THE CAROLINA CONNECTION Book 3 part 2: THE DETAIL
by Singing Silverwings
Summary: The team takes on a whole new job that will test them on a level they've never faced before. (6 chapters) Complete! A bit of drama, angst, friendship, humor as the team finds themselves in a life or death situation they've never faced before and there are only seconds left before... Please review; I need to know your comments, opinions. Many thanks! Hope you enjoy it. 'Wings
1. Chapter 1

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NCIS

The Carolina Connection Series

Book 3 Part 2

THE DETAIL

Chapter 1

"Special Agent DiNozzo. - - - Yes, sir. On the way."

Quickly getting up from his desk, Tony made a couple of horizontal circles in the air with a forefinger jutting into the air, saying, "With me."

As DiNozzo's three team members trailed close behind him, Tim asked, "What's up, Boss?"

"Dunno. Director wants us in Conference Room 2."

On the way, they passed Gibbs headed in the opposite direction. For a moment it appeared that he wanted to stop to say something to Molly but changed his mind at the last moment and kept moving.

Molly glanced back at his back with a slight frown. ' _What was that about?'_ she wondered.

Tapping politely on the door, the Director's firm voice bade them to enter. Seated at the far end of the well-polished table, he gestured, telling them, "Have a seat, please."

Seating themselves quickly, the four agents looked at Director Thomas Morrow expectantly. Morrow looked especially spiffy today, wearing a dark blue suit, white shirt and a tie of silver and blue angled stripes that seemed to accentuate his blue eyes and short silver hair.

"Thank you for coming so quickly," he said. Like - they would dare do anything else? However, they had always found the Director to be very polite and at ease, and that pleased them enormously. He had their very great respect both for him and his position but he wasn't stuffy or aloof from his agents. He was just himself, which was saying a lot. The man was on top of everything and little or nothing escaped his sharp eyes. When required, he could come down really hard and could make steel melt, but he didn't see the necessity of it when it wasn't called for.

"You are aware that there are increasing numbers of credible threats being made on Americans, especially those in leadership roles across the country, not to mention assassination attempts. Not only in the private sectors and military, but government, as well. For that reason, the President has ordered that all government personnel above a certain level travel at all times with a dedicated security team."

"There are _many_ changes coming to NCIS in the near future - I can't emphasize that enough - and, for that same reason, I or my designee will be away much more frequently in connection with the implementation of those changes. Much groundwork has to be done, exchange of information, etc before final decisions are made regarding each area of responsibility. The idea is to streamline the agency and to become much more efficient to meet future needs and reduce our overall costs."

"I have spoken at length with SecDef and SecNav about both topics and now approach the four of you with these proposals. And, bear in mind that these are only _offers_ that none of you are under any obligation to accept. I wanted to give you first refusal because - " he gave a slight shrug to go with a small but disarming grin, "well, because you are the ones I want."

He passed a large manila envelope to each team member as he spoke.

Though Director Morrow was quite serious, there was a definite sparkle in his blue eyes as he looked at MacKenzie and McGee.

"The proposal is first to our two intrepid pilots. Mac, Tim, SecDef is willing to offer both of you a separate package of compensation for whatever hours you serve _any_ federal agency in _any_ capacity as pilots."

"You are aware, I know, that there is a separate detachment here at the Yard that normally undertakes these types of assignments, but, for several reasons, we all have agreed that it is to the great benefit of NCIS to have our own pilots to cart me, or my designee, back and forth to the places we will need to be. That is for the two of you to decide apart from the larger proposal that will include all four of you."

Molly and Tim exchanged a look of surprise. This would be another whole step upward in their careers with NCIS. There was nothing in the agency to address this position; NCIS had never had any Pilot/Special Agents before. It was a whole different classification all of its own that would be created for them. They were the sole members of the NCIS Aviation Division.

"You are also aware that the Navy and Marines have a joint unit onsite who normally provide security details as needed. However, more individuals are now required to have dedicated security teams which will put an undue strain on that group."

"So, my proposal to all of you as a team is that when I or my designee is required to travel, your team, Agent DiNozzo, act as my security detail until I arrive back in Washington. I personally am in great favor of this because I know each of you and you know me."

"Hence, if you accept this proposal, we will not be of the onsite unit's concern. NCIS will be operating entirely within our own resources, including the aircraft. This is unique in the entirety of the government. We will also be acting as a test model for everyone else to study for effectiveness for their own entities. If adopted as widely as possible, untold numbers of dollars can be saved as well as the military men and women serving in these positions then becoming available to active roles in their branches of our armed forces."

"Next, it will save taxpayer dollars which is crucially important. Instead of having all four of you sitting with me in an aircraft cabin, for example, two of you will be up front flying. Even when your additional compensation is considered, it is still much less than taking other full-time pilots and personnel out of the pool available, hotels, expenses, etc."

"When not serving as pilots, Mac and Tim will serve on the security detail and all four of you would also receive additional compensation for your time serving as security."

"For the time that you will be away from DC, one of the other MCRTs will cover any cases you may be working on. We've been considering the formation of at least two other MCRTs for this office but preferably three or four more to be based here, anyway, in what will become the Washington Field Office. The new headquarters building will be at Quantico."

"You've seen recently that extra personel have already been added in other areas of the Agency, including in the lab and in Autopsy. Too often, we're just barely keeping up even with the additional personnel now aboard. Our workload more than justifies it and this building is bursting at the seams now."

"Additional compensation is normal, as you know, such as those in combat zones receive additional compensation for that, others receive additional sums for whatever they're doing beyond normal duties, such as a team leader or an SFA, etc. Additional responsibility equals additional pay."

"I'd like for all of you to discuss this among yourselves and let me know at whatever point you reach a decision. By the way, the pilot offer and the Detail offer are two separate offers, just keep that in mind."

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a meeting scheduled with a certain temperamentally-challenged former team leader and I dare not be late."

As soon as the smiling Director excused himself, the four agents reached for the manila envelopes given to them, withdrew the written pages and began reading all the terms, conditions and fine points included.

There were long quiet moments as the four read, the only sound the slight rustle of papers. Tim and Molly looked at each other as slow grins grew on their faces. Heck, they'd be willing to do this for nothing - but now they were going to get paid for it? Flight pay when they were flying, Security pay when they were doing that, all on top of their current pay. For Tim that also meant beside his override as the team's SFA. Sweeeeeet!

Tony and Jon carefully read their packets with much the same result. The four talked about all aspects of the offers in depth and none could find anything detrimental in any of it either to them as individuals or professionally, especially as a team. They felt their tightness as a team would only work to their advantage in the new arrangement. Naturally, they'd have to formulate plans on how to handle what, but they could work that out later. It would require more thought in detail, but at this early point, it looked very inviting!

Each of them felt strange at the notion of releasing any cases they might be working on to another MCRT when they were off on these additional duties. They were first and foremost investigators. But they each wanted to give this new arrangement a trial to see how they felt about it.

Jon looked at Tony. "Boss, I gotta tell ya," he drawled, "I am _really_ thankful ya made me that offer back in Athens! I owe ya one!"

"Great! Then dinner is on you!" Tony grinned as he gathered up his papers.

* * *

Tony knew that his team was looking forward to this new aspect of their duties but his stomach wasn't so sure.

He was a natural investigator; that was his forte. Other than the basics, he knew little about long-term security and had little experience in it. Yes, he and his team were the best in the investigative business, but that didn't mean they would be good as a security detail.

He also knew that with such a small group, at times their team would have to be augmented short-term with either FBI, other NCIS agents, LEOs or somebody to be able to provide adequate security.

At his desk, he looked at the faces of his team as they intently studied their papers. Yes, he could easily opt out by simply telling the Director, but what good was a team leader who didn't have a team?

He decided that he wanted to talk with Gibbs before he made a decision, and picked up his phone.

After only a quick, very quiet few words, he told Tim, "Be back shortly," as he rose from his desk.

Tim nodded as he saw where Tony was heading. He had expected it. He had had some of the same thoughts Tony had had. Could they really pull this off? He honestly didn't see how just the four of them could do it. Not enough people. What good would it do to save money over here if you were going to have to spend extra over there?

The four of them simply wouldn't be able to provide 24/7 protection.

Molly and Jon exchanged a look as they silently asked and answered questions. Partners didn't really require a spoken language.

She and Tim also exchanged long looks as they thought of their flight duties. Could they do both well? Both were critical to the successful operation. Was their dual role fundamentally realistic?

* * *

Sitting in a chair across from Gibbs' desk, Tony told him of his questions about how this detail was to operate.

"That's for you and Tom to work out, Tony. I'll help you formulate tactics and plans, but the basics need to be worked out between the two of you first. I'm familiar with the plans for all this change and if you accept it, you'd better plan on spending the next I-don't-how-many-months on the road. It's a complete overhaul top to bottom."

Tony stared down at his hands with a frown on his face as he listened. The more he heard, the more uncomfortable he became.

"Thanks, Boss."

Gibbs saw the insecurity in Tony's eyes, yet he knew his former SFA was more than capable. "Go see Tom, Tony. _I_ know you can do it, but _you_ have to believe in yourself. You'll be heading the best people in the agency for the detail. You know them; you know their capabilities. Don't doubt either."

Tony went next to Morrow's outer office and asked Paulette, "The Director got an open slot in his schedule any time soon?"

She smiled at the always charming agent, "Let me check."

Hanging up the phone, she told him, "Go right in, Agent DiNozzo."

Nodding his thanks, he opened Morrow's door and was invited to take a seat.

"I thought I might be hearing from you, Agent DiNozzo," Morrow smiled. "What's on your mind?"

"Director, I don't know how to do all this. I'm just an investigator and I don't think I have the training to do what would be required to provide the level of security you need."

"Agent DiNozzo, in total honesty, I had rather put myself in your hands than in those of anyone else I can think of. You can ferret out things that everybody else misses. _That_ is security. Your entire team, together or individually, is the best I've ever seen. If I didn't have 100% faith in you, I wouldn't have made this offer. Your doubts about your own ability and your willingness to express them to me, reinforce my belief in you. You're my man."

"However, if you truly had rather not undertake the new responsibilities, I understand, and you are free to opt out without any predjudice against you. You'd still be the best agent in this agency, as far as I'm concerned."

"Take a little time, talk it over with your team, lay out some tentative plans, walk through them. Spend some time at the range. Give yourself a little time to get used to the new hat, see how it fits. Then we'll talk some more. That satisfactory?"

Tony took a deep breath. "Yes, sir. I - appreciate your understanding, sir. I'll do as you suggest."

"Good. Now go get on it, young man. We both have to make adjustments, don't we?"

Tony smiled, "Yes, sir. I believe we do!"

* * *

With pen and paper for drawing out every diagram, Tony and his team worked out every step of what they believed would be required of them and when.

But, after running through it several times, it became clear to them that they needed at least one more person to be added to this detail, preferably two. There was a gap in protection when Tim and MollyMac had to deal with duties as pilots. That cut the actual security by half at a crucial time - at arrival and departure. They couldn't be in two places at once. They wouldn't even be able to guard their own luggage which would be a very weak link in the security they could provide for the Director and themselves.

DiNozzo again went to the Director to update him and secured Morrow's promise that he'd find a seasoned agent to add to the team.

The following morning, a tall woman in her early thirties strode into the bullpen and asked, or rather almost demanded, "Supervisory Special Agent DiNozzo?"

Tony looked up from whatever he'd been working on and was smacked right between the eyes with the unexpected sight of lovliest woman he'd ever seen. Standing probably around five feet eleven or so, long, smooth black-as-night hair pulled straight back in a no-nonsense ponytail. A long, lithe body clothed in long bark brown slacks paired with a soft butter-yellow blouse - and her eyes. Oh! those eyes! So deep brown as to be almost black at times - and at the moment, they didn't seem to be happy.

Full lips that looked as if they could hold an easy, beautiful smile, but were, at the moment, a straight line strongly signaling displeasure.

Finally coming to his feet, he drew his large athletic frame up to its full six-foot-two height and answered, "I'm DiNozzo."

She walked the few feet to his desk, speaking in a cool, clipped voice. "Special Agent Samantha Wolfe. I have been reassigned to augment your team. I've been briefed on the security detail you'll be running for the Director."

She glanced around the bullpen space, saying, "It appears there's no room for me. _Where_ do you suggest I work?"

Tony's head tipped slightly to the side as he studied this woman before him with slightly narrowed green eyes. Her tone of voice offered no friendliness, no smile graced her beautiful face, all in all, she sure didn't appear pleased to be here.

"We'll make accomodations, Agent Wolfe. In the meantime, use this area beside McGee. All of this has arisen quickly so you'll have to forgive the make-shift arrangement for now."

He turned and introduced each member of the team. She nodded at each one, still not smiling or offering her hand to any of them.

With a heavy, put-upon sigh, she put her things on the desk now assigned to her. Still standing, Tony commented, "You don't seem to be very happy to be here, Agent Wolfe."

Shooting the team leader one dark look, she answered succinctly and crisply, "I'm not. But I'm here. What do you want me to do?"

DiNozzo told her, "For the moment, work on a cold case. Shortly we're moving to a conference room to go over your new responsibilities and how you fit into this team. Any questions?"

"No."

With that, she grabbed a case file, opened it and began reading the material it contained.

The rest of the team exchanged looks and shrugs. Nobody had a clue about this woman and wondered if she _would_ fit in with them.

While dealing with the ton of paperwork on his desk, Tony considered this woman. It was clear that her heritage was American Indian as her facial structure and coloring suggested, but she was also amazingly beautiful. There was an exotic air about her inspite of her demeanor. He decided right then and there that he'd keep a proper professional distance from her or he'd be in deep trouble. He couldn't allow himself to be distracted now, especially with this new job they were being given.

A short time later, all five of them went to a more private conference room to discuss how each situation could be handled and who would be where, doing what, since their number had increased.

Agent Wolfe asked with a sniff, "What's with the dog? He part of this?"

Seeing daggers spring into action in MollyMac's eyes at her tone, Tony told the new agent in a firm tone of voice, "Roger is a very special member of this team. He's highly trained - to a degree that will surprise you - so you'd better get used to him."

There was definitely a note of warning in his voice and the new agent looked at him steadily as if daring him to challenge her. Again Wolfe sniffed in disdain when the green-eyed stare across from her never wavered.

Tony was getting angry and about ready to dismiss her and ask the Director for a replacement. Seated at the table, Tony turned to the beautiful woman and said with a touch of frost in his voice, "Tell us about yourself, Agent Wolfe. What is _your_ background?"

Head held high she responded in a hail of rapid-fire words. "I'm Shawnee from Kansas. I've served _a year_ as a LEO, _four years_ in the Navy and _five years_ with NCIS, and have served in _many_ special ops missions. I have a _Master's degree_ , I speak _two_ languages and I was serving as _SFA_ for my former team - that I reluctantly had to leave."

Tony just watched her through those narrowed green eyes, uttering a meaningless, "Hmmm," when she finished.

"Well, I think I'll ask the Director for a replacement for you, Agent Wolfe. I don't think you'll fit in with my team at all. We work closely together and watch out for each other. Our new responsibility for the safety and well-being of the Director when traveling is of paramount importance. You've made it clear that you don't want to be here and we can't be distracted by you when we're on duty and your negative attitude _is_ a distraction."

"I get the feeling that you feel that being on this team is beneath you. Let me tell you a little about my team."

"Tim McGee here has multiple degrees from both MIT _and_ Johns Hopkins, including a Master's Degree. There's nothing he can't do with a computer - and I mean _nothing!_ He's also a top-notch SFA for this team. Couldn't ask for a better one. He learned to fly, has advanced at almost record speed and now serves as a fully qualified pilot on the GulfStream 650ER.

"Jonathan Cartwright has two degrees, and is currently working on a Master's Degree, as well. We found him when we were working a case in Greece. He was so good, I brought him here. Great agent, even better man."

"Molly MacKenzie. Three degrees, one of them a Master's. Former DEA where she worked the streets _alone_ for seven years before we brought her here. She was instrumental in bringing down the entire Alvada drug cartel. Holds multi-levels of pilot's licenses and ratings. Flies anything with wings on it. And, by the way, MollyMac is the one who taught Tim to fly."

"And Roger, former Military Working Dog, served five years in Afghanistan. Extremely intelligent, understands commands through the spoken word or handsignals. Every one of us is glad to have him here. He belongs to MollyMac, by the way."

"And, in case you weren't aware, MollyMac and McGee are the pilots who will fly us in the jet wherever we need to go. Ever heard of Gulfstream 7700? They are the two agents who flew that plane."

"Any comment?"

Samantha realized that her anger made her appear something that she wasn't. These people were extraordinary agents, multi-talented and obvious extremely talented and gifted. She knew that this team had held the highest solve-rate in the entire agency for years. That spoke of determination and long hard hours of diligent work.

"I apologize to each one of you. I've - been with my team for a number of years and I'll - miss them terribly. They are good friends who have become very special to me - and we were really close. This morning, without any warning I was abruptly removed from my team and the position I'd held and sent here without being given a choice. It wasn't fair of me to take my anger out on you. I hope you'll give me another chance."

She turned to Tony, "Special Agent DiNozzo, I sincerely apologize and ask to remain on your team. I'm a good agent and I'll do my best at all times."

Tony nodded. "We'll give it one more shot then. Just one! You should consider yourself on probation for the next six months. If it doesn't work out, you're off the team immediately."

Samantha nodded her head and just stared at the top of the table.

The five began to go over everything in as much detail as possible. Each person being free to comment or make suggestions gave them the best opportunity for success. The original team members were glad to see that the newest addition was fully engrossed, asking pertinent questions and making good suggestions, or bringing up points that had been overlooked. All of them felt a bit better about her presence, willing to give her a chance.

Tony commented grimly, "Failure isn't an option. Failure means somebody dies and it will not be the Director as long as even one of is alive."

* * *

In the coming weeks, Samantha, quickly nicknamed Sam by DiNozzo, worked hard to fit in with Tony's MCRT, doing whatever was required of her immediately and without complaint. She knew she was being closely watched and hoped she'd pass their collective examination of her. She realized this change was actually a promotion from her previous position and she should be pleased that she had been selected to fill this current position as a member of the premier MCRT, not just in the DC office, but in all of NCIS. Out of all the people at the government's disposal, the five of them had been selected for this very important detail by the Director himself.

She was very surprised to note that the legendary Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs frequently stopped by the bullpen for a word with MacKenzie or for her to be summoned to Gibbs' office. She didn't know what to think of the easy familiarity between the two or that they usually arrived together every morning. McGee finally told her quietly, "Molly is his wife."

As a single woman, she was certainly aware that this team was comprised of some very handsome men and a singularly beautiful woman, though Molly was the only one who wore a gold ring.

She gathered that Cartwright was totally involved with someone but McGee and DiNozzo seemed to be unencumbered. Though he conducted himself with complete professionalism, she noted the interest that she sometimes detected in the green eyes of her team leader.

Anthony DiNozzo. _'Oh_ , d _amn, he's a good looking man!'_ she thought, but she decided to keep her thoughts to herself. She had too much on the line to get involved with a teammate, especially when that teammate was her boss and one hell of an agent on top of that. He had shown himself to be a strong man and a tough team leader when it was necessary. And she had definitely started off on the wrong foot.

She knew she was more than ready for a solid, long-term relationship, but didn't dare explore that thought in regard to Supervisory Special Agent DiNozzo. No, she'd do her job to the best of her ability but keep herself to herself. She shouldn't even have entertained the thought.

* * *

Two weeks later, Tony was called to the Director's office.

"Tony, I have some travel coming up shortly and will require the services of your team. Ready?"

Tony had a genuine smile that made his eyes sparkle, "Yes, sir. Looking forward to it, Director."

"How's the new agent working out?"

"We're getting there, sir. She kinda started out on the wrong foot but she's trying and she'll do what's required of her; I have no doubts about her capability. If I may ask, sir, do you have an itinerary? It will allow us to be fully prepared when the time comes."

"Yes, it's listed on the government website online so you can copy it straight from there."

Tony's alarm instantly wiped the easy smile from his face. "It's _published,_ sir?"

"Well, yes. Only those in the highest offices are held privately. It has been the custom to publish those for everyone else in the public record."

"I'll have it removed as quickly as possible, sir. That's letting enemies who plot attacks on high-ranking personnel know where you'll be and when. That has to change immediately! We'll need to switch dates of scheduled meetings, anything to throw off anyone who already has had access to the information."

"I see your point. Thank you, Tony. I'll see that it doesn't happen again. And, yes, I'll have the order switched up."

Back at his desk, Tony pulled up the website and there it was. Places, dates, just about anything a terrorist needed to stage an attack and assassination.

Again Morrow felt his confidence in Agent DiNozzo was more than justified.

* * *

Beginning that day, the team went to Reagan National Airport to plan the routes in and out and do run-throughs of the positions they had worked out.

Someone, whether an agent or LEO would drive the first and second SUVs while an agent, usually FBI or Secret Secret when possible, experienced in defensive driving would drive the third one carrying the Director. All three vehicles would be driven onto airport property and straight to the plane, by-passing the terminals altogether whenever possible.

Leaving well before the others in the first vehicle, Molly, Tim and Roger would take all the luggage to the airport in the first car. While MollyMac was in Operations doing all of her things, Tim and the driver would unload the luggage planeside and load it into the jet's belly bin then Tim would do his walkaround and other duties.

Sam would ride in the second SUV which would a spare just-in-case vehicle simply as a precaution, and would be just in front of the Director's SUV.

In the third SUV, Tony would occupy the front passenger seat of that SUV with Jon in the rear with the Director. With the specially tinted windows in all three vehicles, no one would be able to see who was who.

Once the Director was aboard the aircraft, the three vehicles would stay in place until the jet was ready to depart, then they would be taken back to whatever federal compound they came from.

Their plans would depend on the airport of arrival and of necessity would have to be fluid. All of them were different but most all had smaller terminals to serve VIPs and/or military operations off to one side.

They debriefed themselves and discussed slight changes here and there.

Another positive was that if DiNozzo requested it, and he probably would, a detail from the FBI or some other local office could augment their presence for all arrivals and departures. Hopefully, they could just slip right into town and right back out again, nice and quiet. But - they'd be prepared!

They talked about having someone from another agency handle the luggage, but they unanimously decided that they'd rather do it themselves. That way they knew they were secure with it onboard.

Their ace-in-the-hole was Roger. He was trained in so many areas, as well as his very high intelligence, that he would probably spot any trouble before a human could. He could sniff out explosives, as well.

Samantha had noticed that Roger spent a lot of time studying her and those intelligent dark eyes seemed to see right straight through to the middle of her very being.

She had even asked Molly how she could make friends with him, then was astonished when Molly simply told the shepherd that this human was a member of the team and she should be accepted as a new member of his human pack.

Holding out her hand, Rog sniffed it, gave it a somewhat half-hearted lick, then sat back down. He glanced at Molly. 'Whatever you say, human,' that look seemed to say. It also hinted that he'd accept her position at the bottom of the pack's totem, but he'd reserve judgment for now.

* * *

Tony had the team out on the firing range from early morning until early evening, sharpening their skills with their standard sidearms as well as with the Beretta 92, a fully automatic machine pistol which they would also carry. Five straight very _long_ and intense days later, they could hit the center of anything they aimed at, with either hand, standing or prone. With Gibbs as their unofficial instructor, they worked hard. _Very_ hard! As soon as he had found out they were going to the range, he got in Molly's red jeep and rode with her.

She didn't allow him to drive her Jeep anymore, he having come so close to wrecking it several times. When he rode with her, he'd grouse under his breath almost nonstop. "You drive like a little old lady," he muttered.

Pausing for several very long silent beats, Molly would slowly turn her head and shoot him a long, very cool look from beneath an arched brow before returning her attention to the road. That was usually enough to halt the _understandable_ muttering for a while. More than once his patient wife had casually pulled to the side of the road, inviting him, with a lovely smile, to get out and call a cab. He never did but neither did he get overly agitated by her minding the speed limits anymore. Well, not a lot, anyhow. At least he'd learned to keep his mouth shut. Sometimes. Well, now and then.

She decided that he could growl if he wanted and she'd just ignore it as she usually did when he threw a temper tantrum. If he got too loud, she'd just walk away, leaving him standing there by himself. Apparently a tantrum didn't work if there wasn't somebody to see and hear it, and preferably be intimidated by it. Molly was not and it irritated him. Especially when she just chuckled as she walked off.

Samantha was honestly frightened of the silver-haired man as he barked out orders with a hard face and sharp eyes. He was relentless in his insistance for perfection though he was quiet and patient in individual instruction. Gibbs drove them hard, but they knew they had to be better than good and heeded his instruction, hoping to get that rare, quiet "Good job" he gave out when one had done well.

She also noted that Gibbs cut Molly no slack on the firing line. However, during one of their very rare breaks for water, she saw the amazing transformation in his face when his eyes rested on his wife and felt something 'ping' within her. _That's_ the kind of relationship she wanted. She didn't even know the words to describe it, but she knew it when she saw it. Suddenly she felt totally alone, filled with aching loneliness.

* * *

Tony met with the Director to brief him on the procedures his team would use at airports or other venues where he might be, entering buildings, leaving, etc. Morrow was impressed at the well-thought-out plans the young agent had shown him. Actually, he himself hadn't realized all that a security detail covered and appreciated Tony informing him as to what would be going on. At least he would understand what was going on and why.

* * *

One more week, they'd be doing this for real and Tony, especially, was thankful they hadn't been hit with long a case and had had the time to plan and practice their moves. He had been in touch with local offices of the FBI in the different cities who would carry out building inspections before their arrival and would provide backup security for them at airports. Floor plans of the various buildings were sent to him so the detail would be familiar with them before arrival.

Tony was notified of intercepted threatening chatter from two different groups that could easily pertain to the Director or even to some other dignitary altogether, but his detail would take no chances. Tony had even quietly asked Gibbs and Fornell to go over their plans to look for problem areas or deficiencies.

Arrangements had also been made for security for the jet and vehicles to be used by the Director. Fornell said that he'd see to it that a properly trained FBI agent would be designated as the Director's driver for their stay in each city.

For too many nights, Tony had lain awake visualizing every tiny step in his mind, trying to discover if there was anything he had forgotten or overlooked. Finally, the night before their morning departure, he surprised himself when he slept well, awakening only when his alarm went off at six.

Today wasn't a drill or another practice run. Time to shift gears and be at their sharpest. Now it's for real.

::

continued

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	2. Chapter 2

.

NCIS

The Carolina Connection Series

Book 3 Part 2

THE DETAIL

Chapter 2

The team met in the bullpen and it was evident to observers that mentally the Director's security detail was already in full-protection mode and the agents observing felt a touch of special awe for them. The team was quieter and more serious as they gave their go-bags a last thorough check for lots of spare clips of ammo and other important items they might need close at hand.

The men were nicely dressed in dark suits and ties wearing kevlar vests underneath their white shirts, the women dressed similarly in slacks; all had highly polished shoes. Belts sported gold badges and holsters carrying their weapons. A sharp group of agents that NCIS could rightly be proud of.

Gibbs was on hand, just standing quietly to one side watching, feeling so proud of the these agents. Even Roger, wearing his work harness was on full alert. Molly took him upstairs to meet the Director again and made it clear to the big shepherd that he was to protect this man at all costs. How the stunning shepherd understood her words so well, no one could explain; he simply did.

Ducky and Palmer had come upstairs along with Abby and Dave Holland as the group prepared to leave. Molly had one last quick moment with Jethro in which they exchanged a soft, gentle kiss, then she, Roger and Tim were outside, in a car and pulling out of the Naval Yard, bound for the airport with all the luggage. The others would be a short time behind them. In fact, by the time they reached the airport, Tony and Jon were going upstairs to escort the Director down and out, as Wolfe waited at the foot of the stairs to join them.

Though outwardly calm, none of them could deny that heart rates and respiration were just a little higher than normal.

* * *

Each of the agents had practiced their movements until they could almost move without having to think now. Each had spent his and her sleepless nights wondering if they were really good enough to be trusted with such an important job.

Director Morrow had assured each one of them that he had full faith and trust in them and he was looking forward to being with them.

Both Gibbs and Fornell had given their blessings to their plans and tactics, assuring them that they were fully capable and ready to carry out their duty.

That morning in the bullpen, the five of them had quietly looked each other in the eye and, with very small smiles, nodded. Yes. They were ready.

* * *

At the airport, each agent easily moved into position and, before they hardly knew it, the jet's engines were winding up and they were launched into the sky by powerful engines, turning onto their assigned heading on an airway to New York, their first stop.

In flight, the Director praised his detail for their hard work in preparing for this. They had flowed as one unit, smooth as silk. He knew without doubt that he was in the best possible hands and smiled as he sat back in the comfortable leather seat with a steaming, freshly-brewed cup of really good coffee. He couldn't help but be amazed by these people and felt great pride that these were NCIS agents who could do almost anything, and do it well.

What other agency could count fully-qualified jet pilots among their number? He was still marvelling at that fact. Molly and Tim were a smooth, efficient team in the cockpit, too, and they loved flying with each other. Nobody else would do for either of them. They knew each other so well on so many different levels, each knew exactly what to do and when without verbal communication. If Tony and Gibbs had their own silent language, so did these two.

Though Tim was now equally qualified on the 650, he gladly deferred to Molly as Captain due to her greater experience. After all, without her, he certainly wouldn't be sitting where he was now flying a jet aircraft. He still had trouble actually believing how much his life had changed since meeting her in North Carolina on the DEA operation. Nobody even considered laughing at him now.

Jon Cartwright still had trouble believing that he was involved in so many unique situations and events since being plucked up from the quagmire of the Athens field office and taken to DC with Tony's team. He had a fabulous job, the best people in the world to work with, and now had even met the woman of his dreams. He hoped so very much to spend the rest of his life with her.

Samantha Wolfe couldn't help but be impressed by her new teammates, especially Molly and Tim. At first she had harbored secret doubts and nervousness about the two agents actually flying the jet but as she watched them working in the cockpit through the always-open cockpit door, she felt she may as well have been safely aboard any commercial flight with an experienced, professional crew aboard. More and more she was ashamed of her behavior the first day she reported. Now she wouldn't trade places with anyone.

* * *

Once in the cabin, Roger bypassed his preferred place under the single table and settled instead close to the Director's seat under the larger double-sized table where four seats faced each other, his chin resting on the man's shoe. Though Morrow didn't say anything when he felt the weight of the shepherd's head on his foot, the Director had a moment when a lump in his throat would have prevented him from saying a word. Blinking rapidly helped remove the sudden excess moisture in his eyes. Reality kicked in in one sudden realization of exactly what this new Presidential order meant for the men and women - and dogs - in government service who would protect their bosses.

All this just for him. He looked at the agents, one by one, and saw only the best of the best, each of them willing to die to keep him safe. He said a sincere, heartfelt prayer for them, asking God to protect them and keep them safe. He didn't know if he could live with it if an agent was lost while on this detail.

This was the first time he had been on an aircraft where he actually knew the pilots. He knew these two were not only extremely capable but unflappable from the cool way they handled themselves and performed during the long, long, nerve-wracking hijacking. A small smile took up residence on his face as he leaned out into the aisle just a bit so he could watch his agents at work in the cockpit.

He almost had to get rid of another sudden lump in his throat. _'Better watch it, Morrow!'_ he chided himself. _'Your tougher-than-rhinocerous-hide reputation might be in danger.'_ And though he could be tough when it was necessary, he also had a soft side that few were ever allowed to encounter.

And some of these kids - yes, he thought of them as kids when compared to his own age - made him so proud he could hardly stand it. They were so like his own three sons in so many ways. His sons were away in military service and he rarely saw them now and he couldn't help but see his sons in these agents. Best to leave it there, he decided. _'Wouldn't do for them to see a teary-eyed Director, Morrow!'_

His introspection was interrupted by Tim's warning on the PA, "We're about ten minutes from touchdown. Secure the cabin and buckle up."

The beautiful white jet touched down with barely a whisper at LaGuardia International Airport. The place was a massive beehive of activity everywhere you looked. They were taxiing toward the VIP/Military terminal when suddenly all traffic on the airport was brought to a halt by order of the ground traffic controller.

NSA had intercepted a call between two Middle Easterners, one of whom was in Maryland, the other in New York City. One asked the other if the package had been delivered to LaGuardia airport. The other replied, "Yes. It is already in place. Abdul has confirmed it."

An Immediate Threat Notification was issued to all interested parties, which included the New York Air Traffic Control Center.

Certainly the Director wasn't the only person of importance arriving in New York this day, but the message was relayed to Captain MacKenzie who picked up the PA, "Tony, would you come up front a moment, please?" She relayed the information to him.

Tony responded, "Find us a safe place to wait until the terminal is cleared. Keep me updated."

When the team/detail leader informed the Director, he responded quietly, "No problem, Tony. We'll take it as it comes, one step at a time. Still have some of that coffee?" It would take a lot to rattle the Director and his confidence in his detail to handle any irregularity was complete. He'd go when and where they said he could.

Ground Control had its hands more than full with all the many aircraft now trapped on the ground for an unknown period of time while the massive terminals were evacuated and carefully searched. Inbound flights were diverted to alternate airports as thousands of LaGuardia travelers waited outside the terminals, knowing that their carefully arranged travel plans were in tatters. After every one of them cleared security again, the majority of them would have to try to find seats on other flights, assuming the weren't already booked full - whenever the airport was reopened and the giant commercial aircraft were juggled around and finally snuggled up to their jetways at the proper terminal.

A major delay at such an incredibly busy airport as LaGuardia would be felt across the nation as everything backed up and the flights that were supposed to be outbound sat in darkened silence at their empty gates.

As soon as Tim could get a word in, he requested a holding space near a departure runway, if possible. "Blue Package Flight." That was the code that told the controllers that a high-ranking government official was aboard and a quick departure may be required. There wasn't a controller anywhere who didn't know who was flying Gulfstream One-Niner Foxtrot.

In only a few moments a harried controller had them where they needed to be. "Much appreciated, New York," Tim told him and, in return, received the quick mike click that meant 'You're welcome'.

Molly shut down Engine One to conserve fuel and pulled Engine Two back back until it had just enough to keep it idling. If danger presented itself to them, they could be fully functional and on a takeoff roll in less than sixty seconds.

One hour passed, then another, and they were well into the third hour before they were finally cleared to the terminal which had been thoroughly inspected and searched by highly trained dogs of the NY Port Authority and NYPD.

Parked near a small gate, aircraft secured, Tony stood at the top of the stairs to be met by the team leader of one of the MCRTs in New York, Special Agent Todd Stancil.

"Welcome to New York, Special Agent DiNozzo. Security is in place and another team will see to the security of your aircraft."

Just then, a trio of big black SUVs drove up on the ramp, stopping close to the jet. "Here's your transportation. If you'll tell me where the luggage is, I'll see that it is loaded, as well."

Thanking the agent, Tony stepped back into the cabin a moment, nodding to Cartwright and Wolfe who stationed themselves in front of and behind the Director. Tony said, "Ready when you are, sir."

Nodding with a smile, Morrow put a hand on his shoulder, as gracious as always, saying, "Great job, all of you!"

The driver of the second vehicle in line was a an FBI agent and former member of the Secret Service who had extensive training and experience in defensive driving besides being thoroughly familiar with the streets of New York, which made Tony feel better about venturing into the city's notorious traffic.

The Director was safely inside the SUV with Tony and Cartwright standing at the doors, heads on a swivel as they constantly surveilled everything around them. The luggage was secured in the third SUV, and they waited very briefly as Molly and Tim spoke with the ground crew who would service the jet and those who would stand guard. Tim closed the jet's door via the small exterior panel, pleased to now have access to all those special things that GulfStream had built into their planes and having the codes to activate them.

Once the two pilots were clear, Jon Cartwright slid into the back seat with the Director as Tony took his place in the front passenger seat.

Behind them the remainder of the team, including Roger, quickly settled into their SUV bringing up the rear of their little convoy. The New York team would occupy the lead vehicle in front of the Director's SUV.

Then they were off into the nightmare of New York traffic. A small bomb was located in one of the other regular passenger terminals and had been safely disarmed by a bomb disposal squad. So far, so good.

* * *

A cellphone rang and was quickly but quietly answered in Farsi. "You are ready?"

"Yes. May Allah bless me with success."

The call ended immediately.

* * *

Thankfully the ride into Manhatten wasn't that difficult and it was a fairly short time before they pulled up in front of Langham Place Hotel, a luxurious five-star hotel right on Fifth Avenue in the heart of Manhatten.

According to plan the agents exited their vehicles, scanning everything and everyone in the vicinity. Tony's eyes examined the rooftops around, finding them empty of any threats. Roger's eyes rapidly scanned the eyes and faces of the people he saw. However, the light breeze was blowing the scent of a strange weapon away from him. He wasn't able to catch the scent.

Everyone was in place, then Tony nodded for the Director to exit the car and he, Wolfe, Cartwright and Roger immediately surrounded him, escorting him toward the doors when suddenly shots rang out and people on the crowded sidewalk began screaming, dropping to the ground, hoping the shots wouldn't hit them.

The agents had the Director down in a split second, protecting him with their own bodies, as Molly and Tim located the source of the shots and took the shooter down in a rapid hail of bullets from the Berettas. The New York agents had the area around the man secured only seconds later as Tony and the others leaped to their feet dragging the Director into the safety of the hotel's lobby.

"Are you hit, sir?" Tony asked quickly, Sig in hand, his heart pounding.

Blinking with the suddeness of the attack and instant response from his detail, Morrow's mind took a moment to catch up with reality. "I'm fine, Tony. Quite - surprised, but I'm fine. Thanks - all of you."

Hotel staff swarmed around them, everyone talking excitedly at once, with offers of help, but Tony barked at them as he pushed through the crowd, "Make way! Move!" following the hotel manager to an elevator being held open by one of the staff. The three agents remained close around Morrow so any attack would have to go through them before it got to him.

Roger's nose was extremely active as he tried to detect any trace of anything that might harm the man he was to protect. With the exception of the weapons the team held, everything was clear. He stayed close to the Director, but he wanted a glimpse of his beloved mistress and was very anxious about her. He knew from his years in a war zone that gunfire meant extreme danger and death.

"Are you sure you're all right, Director?"

"Yes, I'm quite fine, Tony. I just hope we don't experience this again any time soon."

"Sir, I most fervently hope this is the one and only time we'll ever have to do this!"

As they entered the large suite reserved for the Director, they saw that there were multiple bedrooms (six) that opened off of the huge central 'living area'. There was even a dining area beside a glass wall that offered an amazing view of Manhatten far below. Bellmen brought luggage in and deposited it on the floor, waiting to be told what went to which room.

Fully alert, Roger sniffed each stranger who entered the room, sniffing around the room itself until he was satisfied there were no other threats in the offing.

Identifying the Director's luggage, Tony had it quickly taken to his private suite by a bellman and unpacked.

The others would sort theirs out a little later and the bellmen were dismissed. There were too many things to be done first. Molly and Tim hadn't yet joined them and Tony was concerned. He didn't know their status.

He glanced at Sam's cool, controlled face, noting that she seemed to be fine.

Jon Cartwright was another story altogether. He was pale and and his respiration was uneven as beads of sweat glistened on his face.

Taking a step toward his agent, Tony asked, "Jon? You okay?"

"Yeah. Think I got nicked but it's nothin'," he responded in his Texas drawl.

Grabbing the agent and turning him around, the back of his jacket sleeve had a hole in it and the wet blood splotch was steadily spreading out from it much too quickly.

Tony had the jacket off in seconds, quickly checking the wound, ordering the manager who was still present, "911. Now!"

"Tony, I'll be fine."

"Yeah, I know you will, but the question is when. Don't argue." Directing the wounded agent to a nearby chair, Tony could hardly believe all that was happening so quickly but he was staying ahead of everything and covering all bases with the resources at his disposal.

Jon found a cheeky grin which he aimed at the team leader, "Like you, right, Boss?" He would never admit it, but Jon found himself feeling weaker and weaker. He didn't know that Tony was well aware of what he would be experiencing right now. He was holding the ruined jacket firmly over the gunshot wound, trying to slow the blood loss.

"Don't get smart with me, Cartwright," Tony growled in his best Gibbs imitation. It failed monumentally as his agent still grinned at him through his pain. Cartwright was Tony's Tony.

Tony turned to Sam, "Wolfe! Go see what's happening with MollyMac and Tim. Report back ASAP."

"On it, Boss," and she was out the door, still cool and calm, at least on the outside. There would be a time and place to shake it all out later.

With one hand, Tony punched in a number. SecNav answered his cell, "Yes?"

Tony identified himself, saying, "Sir, there was an attempt on Director Morrow as we were about to enter the hotel here in New York. - - - - "Yes, sir, he's fine. One agent wounded and awaiting EMS. - - - - Non-life-threatening, I'd say, sir. In his bicep but not through. Just wanted to notify you personally of the event and will keep you updated, sir. - - - - Yes, sir. I'll tell him. Here are the EMS now, sir. Yes,sir. Thank you, sir."

Quickly closing the phone he listened carefully to the medics as they checked Jon's wound. "Yes, sir, he'll need surgery to get it out of there. Should heal up just fine, though."

"Which hospital?"

"New York/Presbyterian is the closest. We'll go there unless you need a different one."

"No. That's fine. Jon, I'll be by there as soon as possible. Let me get hold of Wolfe; I want her to go with you."

Jon was not the least bit happy at having to be taken out on a gurney and grumbled. "I'll be alright, Boss. Ya got plenty to keep ya busy. Don't worry about me. Ya need Sam here."

"Zip it, Cartwright. Do what ya gotta do. I've got it covered."

A heavy sigh was the response, followed by a very disgruntled, "Yes, Boss."

Tony couldn't help but grin as the medics carried his agent out. Wolfe answered her phone, "Here, Boss!"

"Sam, I want you to go to the hospital with Jon and stay with him. They're on their way down now. Got that?"

"On it, Boss. Mac and Tim will be up in a few more minutes. Have to give statements. They nailed that son of a bitch dead on, Boss. _Beautiful_ shooting!"

"Okay. Thanks, Sam."

He sighed and turned toward the Director's suite door only to find the Director standing there leaning against the door jam with one shoulder, arms crossed, feet casually crossed, observing him.

"Sit down, Tony; catch your breath. Good job by your whole team. All of you have worked hard to prepare for this eventuality and it shows."

"Sure you're alright, sir? We hit the ground pretty hard..."

"I'll probably have a bruise or two by tomorrow, but that's all. I'm a tough old bird, DiNozzo. Takes a lot to take me down."

A sly grin slipped across Tony's face, "Yes, sir. I'll remember that."

Just as he prepared to call Gibbs, his cell rang. "DiNozzo."

"What's goin' on up there, Tony? ZNN already has it on the news. Where's Molly? Tom okay?"

"Boss - - - Boss, if you stop talking I can fill you in. Seems to have been one shooter in the crowd; he got off several shots as we were about halfway between the car and the hotel door. Cartwright was hit in the left upper arm; he's on his way to the hospital now; Wolfe is with him. - - - No, Molly isn't here yet. She and Tim are still downstairs giving statements since they are the two who took the guy out. - - - No, it's just the Director and me here at the moment. - - - I don't know. Maybe investigating on the street? I simply don't know. - - - Agent Todd Stancil out of the NY office. Uh, Boss? I'm a man down and need a quick replacement. Got somebody you can send right away?" - - - Okay. I'll tell her."

"Gibbs upset?" Morrow asked.

"Yes, sir. The reports on TV are rather garbled and, of course, they have to hype it up as far as their collective hot air can blow it," Tony answered with a deep frown. "They made it out to be a full-fledged gunfight."

Morrow smiled with a chuckle, "Well, it was, wasn't it?"

Tony stopped and grinned a little awkwardly. "I guess you're right, sir. It was awful _fast_ , I know that! Actually, I'm surprised that Molly and Tim could respond that _quickly."_

Morrow was studying DiNozzo's face, then commented, "That's what you trained them for, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir. Well, at least we all have been initiated now. I had hoped we'd done all that training for nothing. Sure didn't expect it on the very first stop. Wonder how they knew?"

"I'm sure the agents downstairs are working on that as we speak."

"When do you want to leave for your event this afternoon, sir?"

"Whenever you've had a minute to catch your breath and patch up your detail. I'm in no hurry. If I have to cancel this afternoon, that's alright, too. This first meeting was mostly a meet-and-greet, anyhow, and I hate 'em. How about calling room service and get us some coffee. And lunch. Order enough for everybody."

"Yes, sir. What should I order for you?"

"Oh, I don't know. A nice sandwich of some sort would be good and a small chef's salad. Ranch dressing."

"Yes, sir, got it."

He had just finished the call when a tap on the door had him reaching for his Sig. It couldn't be helped being the only agent with the Director but he'd do the best he could.

He asked, "Who is it?"

"It's just us, Boss. Tim and Mac."

Tony opened the door cautiously, assuring himself that the two weren't being coerced by assailants, them letting them enter.

"Are you two alright?"

"We'd be a lot better if those press people would let up. Never have I seen anything like them! If it's going to be like this, I'm outta here," Tim groused.

Molly sank into one of the big comfortable chairs with a huge sigh for a moment as she gave her quick report to the team leader. "Had to give our statements, Tony. At least the witnesses' accounts agreed with ours, if ya can actually believe that. Jon okay? I saw the EMS takin' him off."

"Yeah. Shot in the upper arm, probably in surgery by now."

Tim observed quietly, "So he's off the detail for a while. Getting a replacement?"

"Gibbs said he'd find somebody. By the way, MollyMac, you're supposed to call him back soonest."

Molly made the call. "Hey, babe. How ya doin'? - - - No, I'm good. Don't wanna go through this again, that's for sure. - - - No, the Director is right here. Ya wanna talk to him? - - - Okay, I'll tell him.- - - No, our plans worked perfectly - except for Jon gettin' shot. Tim and I were right behind them and the Berettas settled the issue pretty quick. - - - No, we're gettin' ready to have lunch, I think, then I'll have to find out what we're doin' afterward. - - Jethro, you oughta see this place! The Director has a private suite that opens onto this enormous livin' area and there are five more bedrooms that also open onto this common area, I guess you'd call it. Got a dinin' area, even a huge black grand piano." She laughed softly, "Yeah, I will, Jethro. Get yourself a cup of coffee and chill for a bit. - - - Oh, who're ya sendin'? We need somebody really sharp for this kinda detail. - - - I'll tell him. Love ya, babe. Talk to ya later."

She closed the phone with a little sigh. "Director, Jethro asked if there's anything special you want him to do in regard to this event and he'll have Balboa or somebody to make the announcement of our status at the Yard."

Morrow nodded. "Any idea when Cartwright's replacement might get here?"

"No, sir. I know Jethro will be very careful about who he choses and thankfully it's a short flight between DC and here. Is there anything I can do for you, sir?"

"Oh, no, but thank you, Mac. You've done plenty this day, I'd say. How did you and Tim respond so fast?"

"I don't really know, sir. We heard the first shot, then spun around with the Berettas and nailed that turkey dead to rights. I think it'll be a fairly easy case for the FBI to sort out. Anyhow we've given our statements and that should be it."

Tim chimed in, "I have to agree with Mac, sir. Somehow we just automatically identified the target and opened fire." He took a second and half-chuckled, "General MacArthur once said that 'Whoever said the pen is mightier than the sword, obviously never encountered automatic weapons.' I can testify that it's true!"

"The press give you a hard time?"

"Oh, dear lord!" Molly exclaimed. "They recognized Tim and me right away and it quickly escalated into a feedin' frenzy. The cops had a hard time keepin' them behind the yellow tape protectin' the crime scene. 'Cept I don't think it is actually a _crime_ scene this time. Director, we may need to invest in disguises of some sort to avoid this on our future stops."

Morrow laughed, "We'll set up a protection detail for you. How's that?"

Molly and Tim laughed, then Tim said to his teammate, "I can just see Gibbs now, can't you?"

"He'd make me come home."

* * *

The evening papers and other media in New York continuously and prominently featured a photo of the scene around the Director as the shots were being exchanged; it quickly went viral across the internet.

Gibbs watched the images play across the plasma, his face grim, eyes as hard as granite.

The Director was facedown on the sidewalk, surrounded by his detail sprawled on him, protecting him with their own bodies as a fully alert shepherd lay partially on the Director's head, one paw on an agent's back, his eyes clearly focused on the terrorist shooting at them but not moving from his protective position on the man he was supposed to guard.

The photo also showed a dark wet place on his shoulder but no one on-scene noticed it in all the commotion.

In the background of the photo, though slightly blurred, he could clearly see Molly and Tim in full action, firing back at the terrorist. It was a Pulitzer-worthy action photo.

Another chapter in the lives of the public's favorite heroes was born.

* * *

Lunch arrived and the Director instructed the waiters to put the food on the beautiful glass table in the dining area, then called the agents to come eat. He refused to allow himself to be set aside separately like royalty of some sort who was too good to eat with his agents.

Tony ate a couple of bites of his turkey club sandwich, as he checked with Wolfe at the hospital. Jon was still in surgery. "Okay. I'll be on my way there to check on him in a few mintues. I'll make sure two of the New York people stay with him around the clock; I don't want him left alone. You'll come back with me; lunch is here so you can eat. - - - Yeah, everything's fine. Gibbs is sending us a replacement for Cartwright until he can rejoin us, whenever that might be. - - Okay, see you soon."

He sighed as he silently stared out of the floor-to-ceiling glass at the city. ' _Please, God, let this be the end of this!'_ The thought kept buzzing around in his mind: what if it had been the Director who had been hit? At least their plan had worked. Better one of them than the Director.

' _Boss, pick a good one! We're going to need him - or her - to be right ready to step in!'_

::

continued

::


	3. Chapter 3

.

NCIS

The Carolina Connection Series

Book 3 Part 2

THE DETAIL

Chapter 3

As soon as she gave her report to Tony, Molly went over to see Roger. Rog greeted her with a soft whine. Instantly concerned, she gently rubbed her hands over his body searching for wounds, alarmed when she felt sticky red blood on her hands.

"Roger's hurt!" she exclaimed, holding her hand up for them to see the blood. "We need a vet, right now!"

Tony made a fast call, then told her, "An NYPD doc is on the way. He has every thing he needs in a specialized van and should be here soon. He's one of the vets who takes care of all their dogs for the department."

The tall leader of the detail knelt beside MollyMac and gently caressed the big dog, talking to him in a soft voice. Roger licked his fingers once in thanks for the comfort offered to him, but he was leaning against Molly's side and wasn't budging.

The vet couldn't get there fast enough to suit Molly. "Lie down, Rog," she told him and he did so with a sigh. He was in pain but wanted to be sure everything and everybody was alright before accepting the loving comfort he was receiving.

Dr. Carlson did arrive in good time and examined the deep graze on Roger's shoulder. He sprayed it with something that would deaden the area for a time and cleaned the wound carefully. As soon as it was fully numb, he closed the long gash with ten neat stitches, then placed a good-sized bandage on it to keep it clean and protected. The bandage was held in place by gause that looped around his leg and around his body to prevent having to use tape. Armed with pills that would help alleviate the pain, pills to fight infection, sealed packets of bandages and gause, and instructions for his care, Molly thanked him profusely for coming.

"I'll stop by tomorrow to check on him," Doc Carlson promised.

After the vet left, Molly wanted to give Roger a pill to help relieve the pain he would experience as soon as the local anesthetic wore off but knew the shepherd would hate to be left in the hotel alone when the detail had to go out later. But he instinctively understood that he needed to stay quiet to let the wound heal. They were already a man down so staying behind with her amazing dog wasn't an option available to Molly, but after lunch, the answer to her dilema arrived in the form of an NYPD officer and his K9 partner.

Being admitted after a careful scan by the ever-alert Tony and Tim, the officer introduced himself to Molly and said, "Doc Carlson told me about Roger's injury and thought you might want a 'sitter' for a while. I'm off duty now and Ginger here and I would enjoy being with him while you have to be out."

Roger and Ginger were introducing themselves to each other and Roger was obviously okay with her company. Molly introduced him to Officer Davis and explained what was going to happen. Roger's sharp eyes searched those of the officer, then sniffed the offered hand and gave it one little lick. The look he quickly shot to his mistress was telling her that he'd accept it but wasn't exactly overjoyed to be left behind even if he was in a lot pain. The look was so plain, they had to laugh.

Shortly afterward, Molly took Rog outside for a brief walk, then led him back as soon as he was satisfied but a camera shot from a very alert photographer snapped several pics that showed the sizable white bandage on the shepherd's shoulder and then the media frenzy sprang to renewed life that confirmed that Roger had indeed been injured in the shootout in front of the hotel.

Seeing it later on ZNN, Molly muttered, "I'm gonna cut my hair, bleach it blond and wear a mask. Maybe then they'll leave us alone."

* * *

The detail quickly reviewed their plans for a short-handed team made much earlier and easily slipped into that mode. The meet-and-greet at the New York office came off quietly, though Director Morrow would have been just as content to have stayed in their shared quarters.

The evening meeting that the Director was to chair was thankfully set to take place in a large meeting room here in the hotel. Still on edge from the very dangerous attack made on them earlier, the detail, on high alert, escorted the Director to the meeting. They tried to make themselves invisible yet stay close to him at the same time.

As the meeting began, the topic of the coming changes in NCIS fully occupied the minds of the attendees. Though they never relaxed their attention for even a moment, the members of the security detail were truly surprised at all the changes planned.

Finally, three long hours after it began, the meeting came to an end and they returned to their enormous suite with relief. This ended their outings for the day and all of them were glad of it!

Molly hugged Officer Davis for taking his time off to stay with Roger. He and Ginger had fulfilled a great need and she was more than just grateful - and Davis understood. "If I was in your place and that happened to Ginger, I know I'd feel as you do now. Just call it 'paying it forward'." He left with a friendly smile and a wave.

Roger was resting peacefully though he was somewhat awake. Officer Davis had given him his pills and the pain had been chased away for the time being. Molly sat on the floor, leaning against one of the big chairs, softly stroking his head and around his neck and ears. To Roger, this was heaven. With a big sigh, he allowed his eyes to close and surrendered to the peace of his dreams.

* * *

After a nice meal in the suite's dining area delivered by room service, everyone settled back on comfortable chairs or sofas to just chill for a bit. This common living area was a haven of soft tones of cream and white, with touches of deep reds, greens and blue in pillows here and there and area rugs placed atop the pale cream carpet. It was certainly lovely.

All the lights on low, the lights of Manhattan sparkling through enormous expanses of glass, Tony sat at the beautiful grand piano and softly played a long list of old favorites from Stardust on up. It was so relaxing and peaceful.

Dancing in the Dark, Moonlight Sonata, some old Frank Sinatra and Nat King Cole songs, all easy and calm. Tony sat with eyes closed as he played, locking everything and everybody out as he decompressed through his music after a very stressful day.

Each person seemed to be lost in the music being so skillfully played and it was a good ending to a truly tough day and they were tired. In one of the big, soft chairs, Director Morrow was sitting with them, legs stretched out before him crossed at the ankle, head leaning back, eyes closed as he listened to Tony play. He had so many wonderful memories of those songs and his wife. He really missed her badly.

At a tap on the door, Tony was up in a flash, hand on his Sig as he first checked the peephole, then chuckled and opened the door. There stood Marty O'Brien whom he had met and brought back to DC with him from the Yemen op.

"You called for an expert in all things, sir?"

Meeting with a firm handshake, Tony grinned, "C'mon in, Marty. You're the best Gibbs could scrounge up? Man, we're in worse trouble than I thought!"

"Yeah, yeah. Heard it all before but when somebody _really_ wants something done, who do they call? Ol' Marty to the rescue once again. How ya doin', Tony?"

"Hanging in there, Marty. Thanks for coming. Come meet everybody." Tony went through all the introductions starting with the Director and Sam. He already knew Molly and Tim from Yemen.

When meeting Morrow, Marty looked at DiNozzo in mock confusion, pointing to the Director, "This young guy is the Director? I thought you said he was some old dude," getting a big laugh.

Then later, Tony sat with Marty at the table, where the replacement grabbed a quick bite. Tony showed him their plans, glad to see him nodding. Marty had probably covered more of these types of operations than he could name and Tony wanted his input.

"Okay. Got it. Good coverage there. Any word on Cartwright?"

"He'll be out a while before he has full use of his arm again, so looks like we're stuck with you in the meantime."

"Well, I'm tough - not easily corruptible - so I guess I'll be okay." Marty smiled as he looked at his friend. "Good to see you again, Tony."

"You, too, Marty. Seems like our paths would cross more often since we work out of the same building."

"Yeah, but all of us are always busy, it seems."

Marty was shown to what was to have been Cartwright's room. Even in civilian clothing, the former Special Ops Marine was still visible in his physique, carriage and keen eyes. Director Morrow had smiled as O'Brien scoped out the suite in seconds, spreading witty chatter with the others as he went. Morrow also had no trouble seeing the similarities between DiNozzo and O'Brien that Gibbs had mentioned. Well, it would be interesting, no doubt. Especially when Cartwright returned.

* * *

The team still had two more days here in New York with the Director. At Morrow's request, hotel staff made slight changes in the arrangement of the furniture in the suite, bringing in a huge, well-polished conference table and chairs, arranging to have the remainder of his meetings right there. He saw no need in dragging what he thought of as "my team" around New York. It would be easier on Roger and him, as well.

Except for his necessary visits outside, Roger was mostly content to stay still while his painful shoulder healed. That being said, whenever anyone new entered the suite, he alerted, sniffed and checked them out before relaxing and returning to his chosen place off to the side on the soft carpet.

In the evenings, the Director asked Tony if he felt like playing the piano. He loved the old songs and could have listened endlessly.

* * *

Jon was released from the hospital pretty heavily drugged, his very painful shoulder strapped down, immobile. The location of the wound made any movement involving the upper quadrant of his shoulder, chest or back, screaming in pain. One of the New York agents accompanied Cartwright back to DC where a relieved Kat Walker waited for him at the airport.

In his apartment, Jon discovered that one cannot pull pants up with just one arm. Neither could a shirttail be tucked in. In fact, _most_ things required two hands, leaving the agent frustrated and upset by the loss of his independence. Thankfully, Mr. Jenkins was more than happy to help his young friend, as well as preparing his meals and cutting up whatever required it when Kat was at work.

Just getting into and out of bed was a problem with causing breath-stopping pain. Jon's thought was, _'Forget body armor! I want something to cover my shoulders and arms!'_

It was going to be a tedious, painful recovery and he'd be very thankful when he could finally wean himself off the medications and at least be able to sit at his desk. He tried to keep up a cheerful appearance in front of others, but his pain, anxiety, and regret at not being with his teammates was in his eyes.

The only good point was that he and Kat grew even closer during his convalesence and she gave him the best care possible, faithfully getting up through the long nights to give him his meds and waiting until they took effect.

His teammates stayed in contact with him by phone.

Marty called, too. "Hey, man! How ya doin'?" - - - "Yeah? Well, I really just wanted to congratulate you! This is just terrific!" - - - "You don't know about the statue? Wow. Sorry 'bout that." - - - "Yeah, I heard it's gonna be put up in front of the new headquarters building in Quantico. Twenty feet tall!" - - - "Whataya mean I'm full of it? It's the truth, man! Can't wait to see it myself." - - - "Ha! Now who's full of it, huh?" - - - (laughter) "Okay, Jon. Take care of yourself and get back here. A man can only take so much of flyin' around in a private jet flown by a most lovely lady, eatin' all this good food, lookin' all tough and mysterious, ya know? Good thing I can handle it, though, huh?" - - - (more laughter) "Okay. See ya, man."

* * *

The remaining days and meetings in New York came to a close and they quietly slipped out a rear exit of the hotel into the waiting SUVs, then drove right up beside the jet at LaGuardia, boarded and momentarily left New York in the haze of its air pollution. The Great Lakes Naval Recruitment Training Center just north of Chicago was the next stop.

This large base covered almost two thousand acres and was home to more than forty thousand recruits per year, with around seven thousand on base at any given time. The base was also home to the Navy's premier technical training command, hosting sixteen thousand sailors every year. It wasn't small, by any means.

The Great Lakes Center was also home to the enormous NCIS Central Office. That one office covered twenty-one states from the Canadian border all the way down to New Orleans. The realignment of NCIS would have a huge impact on this office.

The only drawback was that the base had no airport and the closest field would be General Billy Mitchell International Airport in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. General Mitchell, a native of Milwaukee, was regarded by most as the father of the US Air Force. The airport was a medium-sized hub for commercial traffic, but was also home to an Air National Guard Base that the detail would be using. The jet would be perfectly safe there, concern of which was always in the minds of Gulfstream One-Niner Foxtrot's cockpit crew.

Landing at Gen. Mitchell Airport was a breath of fresh air. It was busy enough, but nowhere near the tense, frenetic pace found at any of the huge New York Airports.

Directed by Ground Control to the military hangars on the east side of the airport, a plane marshall guided the white jet to a parking place close to a small military terminal. As the engines were winding down and the after-shutdown cockpit checklist was complete, Tim left to open the cabin door while Molly finished making notations in the ship's log.

The door had barely had time to unfold the built-in stairs when three shiny black SUVs pulled alongside. Tim smiled to himself as he thought, _'Tony did a helluva job prearranging all this stuff! And obviously put the fear of God into somebody about promptness.'_

Their arrival went as smooth as silk and in no time they had completed a pleasant forty-five minute drive down an interstate highway and entered the base. The base commander himself, a Rear Admiral, waited to receive the Director and took them to the quarters that would house them for the duration of their stay. Not the Langham Place Hotel by any stretch of the imagination, but comfortable and more than adequate all the same. The Director's quarters were surrounded by those of his security detail which is the best they could do in that regard.

Director Morrow assured the Admiral they would be quite comfortable and expressed his appreciation for allowing his meetings to be held on the base. "We'll do our best to be non-disruptive, sir."

"You're most welcome here, Director. We heard about your arrival in New York. You had an agent injured?"

"Yes, Agent Jon Cartwright. Helluvan agent. We miss him, although," he continued, jerking a thumb over his shoulder toward the impressive-looking agent behind him, "they dug down deep in a barrel somewhere and sent Agent Marty O'Brien here to fill in for him."

Sparkles dancing a jig in blue Irish eyes, O'Brien piped up with mock indignation, "I resemble that, Your Directorness, sir!"

"Don't worry, Agent O'Brien, we're strong and we'll manage somehow." The Director's discreet wink wasn't missed by the Admiral who envied the Director at that moment. There is no way O'Brien would ever be mistaken for anything but what he was: a super-sharp, squared away agent with lots of military SpecOp missions under his belt. Personality was simply a great bonus.

* * *

Dr. Mallard sighed. It seemed too quiet around here with Tony's entire team out on assignment. It's not like he had nothing to do; other MCRTs were keeping him busy enough, but it just wasn't the same without them.

Palmer looked at the Doctor with a small smile. "You okay, Dr. Mallard?"

"Oh, yes, Dr. Palmer. Just missing our dear friends." The ME's long-term cohort was now a full-fledged liscensed medical doctor and no longer just Ducky's assistant. He was titled Deputy Chief Medical Examiner now and Ducky couldn't be prouder if the young man was his own son. His own new title of Chief Medical Examiner was waved off with a hand.

"Yes, it does seem rather quiet. How is Aneesa?"

"Oh, she's fine, thank you for asking, Dr. Palmer. I can't imagine not having her at home. I do hope she'll stay. It seems as if she spends every moment of her day thinking of things to do or to cook to please me. She has me quite spoiled, I'm afraid. A lovely, lovely lady!"

Palmer just smiled. He was so glad that his beloved mentor no longer went home to an empty house. Now he went home earlier instead of finding so many things to do late into the evening. The foods he ate semed to agree with him well and his cheerful company in the evenings put a spring into his step and kept him interested in things besides his work. His young protegé was happy and thankful on all points.

Palmer's greatest fear had been that one morning the doctor wouldn't show up for work, having died alone at home. He simply didn't think he'd ever get over such an event and hoped desparately that Molly's adopted mother would stay with the dear older man.

"Um...Dr. Mallard...have you...?" His voice trailed off. No, he couldn't ask.

"Have I what, Dr. Palmer?"

With one of his bright smiles, the Deputy ME responded, "Oh, nothing, Dr. Mallard. It's not important."

Bright blue eyes flickered upward and took in the young doctor's face. "Don't be shy, Dr. Palmer. Ask your question."

"Well, I was...going to ask if...perhaps...uh, you might...consider...marriage, not that it's any of my business," he hurried to add.

The Doctor sighed as he paused in his work. "Oh, Dr. Palmer, marriage is a most wonderful institution, as you yourself know. However, I don't think anyone would consider such an offer from someone of my age. However, I must admit that at times I find it to be a most appealing thought."

Jimmy paused as he considered his answer. "Dr. Mallard, I think you may do yourself an injustice. I'm not a woman...so I don't really...know..but, it would seem...to me, anyway...that a lady would count herself...lucky to catch your eye."

"Dr. Palmer, you do flatter me! But, if you have completed planning my impending nuptials, do you think you could take this down to Abigail, please?"

"Oh! Of course, Dr. Mallard."

As his tall, lanky former assistant hurried out of the room toward the elevator, Dr. Mallard smiled and had a small chuckle at the sometimes awkward young man. Then he sighed as he began to prepare this latest guest to have a short nap in one of the refrigerated drawers.

His thoughts drifted toward the beautiful lady whose name he had left unsaid. Aneesa. Yes, actually he had considered asking for her hand in marriage. But when he considered the younger woman, he felt he would be taking too much for granted. Aneesa was perpetually upbeat, cheerful, never failing to anticipate his wants, whether it was to be welcomed home to a bright little fire and a perfect cup of tea or having prepared a wonderful meal for him, or just to lend an ear to his rambling stories. She was there. His home was immaculate, his clothing in perfect condition. She did her best to please him.

But marriage? For a moment, he stopped as his mind carried him in that direction. Oh, he'd be so happy! But would she? Her life and culture were so different, but she appeared to easily adapt to his Scottish/English/American ways, he actually stopped to wonder at the possibility that Dr. Palmer had opened to him.

Hearing the doors swish open, Jimmy entered briskly with his ever-present smile. "Shall I clean up now, Dr. Mallard?"

"Yes, Dr. Palmer. Thank you."

With a slight smile, Jimmy slipped many glances toward the doctor as the ME began filling out unending paperwork. He had noted the pensive expression on the doctor's face when he had returned from the lab. Would there be an announcement in the future? He hoped so. He and Breena were so totally happy with each other and their precious little Victoria Palmer.

Of course, he didn't think Dr. Mallard would be interested in having children at this stage of his life...would he?

* * *

A dark complected man sat at a messy desk. The only light in the room was the small one that lit the surface of the desk. He wasn't happy with the failures his cell had been experiencing. It was one of the largest cells in this land and much was expected of them. Of him. The failures of his group would reflect back on him as a poor leader.

So far, all attacks had been foiled. Bombs discovered, personal attacks thwarted, several of his people killed. Their plans had been good. Clearly the infidels had obtained information beforehand. Who had spoken to the police? The FBI?

In his mind, he studied each face of his people, looking for any hint of treason against them. No one. How then did they know to be prepared against such things? It had to be through their never-ending eavesdropping on people. He and leaders of groups such as his had hoped that the public uproar about electronic surveillance would end that practice but he knew that was too much to be expected. The public would be placated but the practice would continue. The Americans were too soft and too deeply involved with their own pleasure and entertainment than to keep watch on the government ruling them. Those who did pay attention were quickly labeled as 'kooks' and sneered at.

Well, he would never give up! He looked over the names of those on their target list and his anger grew. They would fall, then others behind them would fall. His people would never stop, never give up. This land would fall to them!

One of several cell phones on his desktop buzzed. "Yes?"

"It is thought that this man will go next to their city of San Diego in California, but it isn't certain. No one can get close enough to really hear. Shall we prepare?"

"How did you learn this?"

"One of the maids saw the name written on a piece of paper with other numbers beside it."

"Not much to go on."

"No, my friend, but it is all we could get. His security people are far too alert after the failure in New York. Hasib died without glory. What are your orders?"

"Prepare. Be ready and act as soon as possible if he arrives."

"It will be done."

The cell leader looked at the next name on his list and smiled. That one should be easier. And the woman on the list, she should be easiest of all. Women should never be allowed to occupy offices at all, much less high governmental positions. Fear would reign at all levels of the American government.

On second thought, he hoped the woman actually would seek the highest office in this land. It would be such a great pleasure to bring her down, to show her a woman's place and her duties toward a man. A large smile grew on his face as he imagined it.

* * *

The meetings on the Naval base went as scheduled. The CO had even augmented their security by placing two armed men at the Director's door wherever he was. This allowed his own detail to at least get a full night's sleep instead of taking turns keeping watch throughout the night as they had done in New York.

Tony conferred quietly with the Director on their next stop before he made his phonecalls on secure lines. Augmenting forces would be waiting for them as requested.

Molly and Tim were more than ready to get back into the air. The arrangement of having the two of them and Roger taking the luggage ahead of time worked out well. Usually, by the time the Director arrived, they were ready to start engines and leave.

Everyone aboard, the engines wound up, all systems were go, and a plane marshall directed them out of the parking area. Ground control had given their instructions and handed the flight over to the tower. Lining up with the runway, Molly looked at Tim and held both hands up shoulder high, telling him, "Your aircraft." That was the universal signal that the other pilot had control of the aircraft and would fly this leg of the trip.

Tim's green eyes lit up and a huge grin split his face. "My aircraft," he responded correctly. Advancing the throttles, the sleek white jet raced down the runway, Molly calling out the V1 and V2 speeds, then Tim pulled back on the yoke, raising the nose toward the sky.

He called, "Gear up," and Molly responded since she was acting as his co-pilot, "Gear up - - - and locked."

"Flaps up," Tim directed.

"Flaps up," she answered as she raised that lever.

Mac now handling the radio and navigation, Tim actually had a little time to enjoy his first "real" flight as pilot instead of co-pilot, even if he was still physically seated in the right seat.

Molly kept his navigation slips on the center console updated and performed all the duties Tim normally handled. Once they reached cruise altitude, Molly asked her partner, "Want some coffee?"

"Sure! That'd be great!"

"Be back in a few," she smiled, leaving him in the cockpit alone. It was time for him to gain experience in the role of command pilot. This was the only way to get that experience.

Surprised to see her in the cabin so soon, Tony asked, "Everything okay, MollyMac?"

"Yeah, goin' real good, Tony! Tim's got the airplane."

An expression of mock terror on his face, he said, "Get back up there! The Probie flying by himself? Oh, the horror of it!"

His tone of voice made it so dramatic and funny that everybody laughed. He and Marty kept things light when they weren't actively moving the Director somewhere. Nowhere were they more at ease and relaxed than on this beautiful jet. It was their private island.

Tony had shown Marty how to work the coffee machine and where the food was. This would roughly be a four hour flight, give or take a little. Since the Director especially enjoyed having a really nice sandwich and a salad or soup for lunch, that's what Molly had ordered for catering, along with the ever-present and always enjoyed tray of fresh fruit.

Preparing Tim's cup and taking it to the cockpit, she saw that he had everything well in hand was greatly enjoying being "in charge."

"Okay, Tim?"

"Yeah! Couldn't be better!"

"Terrific. I'll visit back here a bit, then. Call if you want me."

"Roger that!" he acknowledged, thrilled to have all her trust like this with the Director on board.

Roger remained under the Director's table, but he followed Molly's every move. His shoulder was healing beautifully and he no longer wanted the pain pills. Molly kneeled in the aisle and spoke to him softly as she reached over to scratch behind those ears, receiving a demonstrative hand licking and a wagging tail in return.

After she stood, the Director asked, "Think our ruse worked, Mac?"

"Sure hope so, sir! In Seattle, I'll leave a flight plan to Charleston, South Carolina, in case any eyes are interested."

The tall man smiled. "Leaving the San Diego note was a great idea. If we're being targeted, they won't know where to expect us."

"We can't be too careful, Director. Those people are deadly serious in their intentions. We'll use whatever means necessary to keep them off-balance and hopefully caught. The FBI is already in place in San Diego and undercover so I hope they are successful in catching anyone who might show up."

Morrow nodded. "All of you are so sharp, I know that you are more than up to the challenge," he said quietly.

"Thank you, sir. Like some more coffee?"

"Yes, thank you. That would be very nice."

Later she had a seat beside Tony. "I really enjoyed hearin' you play the piano, Tony. You're very good!"

He grinned as his face turned slightly pinkish. "Thanks, MollyMac. That's my way of decompressing. Thankfully I have neighbors around my apartment who enjoy listening. If I have the windows open, I'll hear one of them yell, "Play Charmaine!" or something. At least nobody complains."

"Wish I could play. I wanted to learn when I was young, but it just wasn't possible. But I love to listen. Make a CD of your playin' for me! Then I can listen anytime I want!"

"Sure. I can do that. I think. I'll ask the Probie how to do it. He'll know for sure."

"Yeah. He probably had a computer in his crib when he was a baby."

"And you had airplanes."

She laughed. "Not quite that young but young enough, I guess. See ya later. Gotta go check in with 'the boss' up front. Don't wanna be fired!"

Tim came back for a break once Molly returned to the cockpit. Tony made a big production of him being the 'Captain' on this leg of the flight, turning Tim's face bright red but the big smile never wavered.

Morrow noted the closeness of these people. The core group always included Samantha and Marty in whatever was going on, making them feel at ease, as well.

He also noted that the dark eyes of the beautiful Samantha spent a lot of time studying the tall and very handsome young team leader. He hid a smile as he wondered how DiNozzo would handle it. So far, he had only seen him treating her like everyone else, yet maintaining his mantle of professionalism. Sure would be interesting to observe in time to come.

Had the Director only known how hard Tony was working to keep up that appearance! He really wanted to get to know this woman who had nearly knocked his socks off when he first saw her. He observed her when he thought no one else was looking but was extremely careful to not be caught. Currently, he had no idea how he was going to approach her, but it would definitely have to wait until this detail was back in DC.

Meanwhile, he wondered what awaited them in Seattle.

::

continued

::


	4. Chapter 4

.

NCIS

The Carolina Connection Series

Book 3 Part 2

THE DETAIL

Chapter 4

The air was cool as rain poured from dark clouds stubbornly hanging over Seattle. People dressed in raingear hurried on their way, heads bowed against the chilly rain or tucked under big umbrellas, paying little attention to anyone or anything around them.

The detail's arrival procedure was followed and they had been met by an MCRT from the local office. A slow drive through rain-thickened traffic and they arrived safely at a large hotel complex. Inside, an elevator was being held for the Director by an agent dressed as a bellman.

Tony had adopted the practice of calling his arrival contact while enroute an hour or so out from their destination for a sitrep and to verify arrangements. When the jet landed, everything was ready to receive the Director and it made for a smooth, speedy transition from jet to hotel.

Morrow loved to watch this young man who could think as fast as lightning on his feet and could adapt to any situation. His team was so insync, all Tony had to say was "B!", or maybe "C!" and their backup plans and positions shifted instantly. Frankly, he - and they - amazed him.

Luggage was delivered within a moment of their own arrival in the enormous suite that was nearly a duplicate of the one in New York. That arrangement worked so well, that the Director had had the Langham Place manager find same-type accommodations in all the major cities he would be visiting in the coming months.

Armed with this information, he had called the head of NCIS accounting and had him compare costs of different arrangements, his own suite, and adjacent rooms on the same floor for his security detail. In every case, the enormous suite beat the other combined costs by a fairly large margin. It all worked out so much better for every member of the detail and the Director.

Besides, he could listen to Tony play the piano in the evenings.

* * *

His leader had had him in place for a long time and he was exceedingly happy that his job was nearly at an end. He wanted to go home badly! For months he had kept a false face in place, a happy smile, always with a new quip or joke at which his fellow workers laughed. It was known far and wide that Amir, an alias he used, otherwise known amongst his fellow cleaners as 'Camel Driver', was a really good guy, a hard worker.

He was one of the large crew who cleaned the terminals, the airplanes, even the tarmac when time permitted. And he did a very good job, never complaining, always cheerful and happy. His boss had even given him two raises since he come to work here. At first, some of the others had misgivings but to have a man from Saudi Arabia (he claimed) who actually shared the outlook and opinions of most Americans was a surprise to them and they warmed to him quickly, giving him their trust.

The rain would work in his favor because as many as possible avoided being outside. Amir/Muhammad laughed at them, "You just a bunch of sissy Americans!" he smilingly waved them aside as he pulled on his rain gear. "Amir will gladly do it for you. Show you how it is done!" Good-natured insults flew back and forth until he left the shelter of the building and sloshed across the ramp in the cold gray rain that poured down from the clouds with determined vengeance.

Oh, they made it so easy! Amir/Muhammad grinned as the relentless rain splatted noisily on his hooded yellow jacket and coverall-style pants. Bulky clothing that hid more than anyone realized.

With no one watching, he opened the small panel beneath the private aircraft and pushed the numbered buttons he'd been given that activated the door opening sequence. Boarding the beautiful plane, he just stood looking around for a long moment. Luxury and nothing but the best. Rich Americans who were too important to take regular commercial flights like everyone else. He smiled.

Keeping his trash bag close at hand in case someone actually did venture out to see what he was doing, he began searching the interior for the best place to hide the device he had been charged with planting. He made his way back to the spacious lavatory and began opening various drawers, cabinets and access panels to see which one would work best. Finally, he settled on the old standby: the trash can. It was awkward to remove and less likely to be discovered. And it would be devastating since both engines were located at the rear of this plane. Oh, yes, it would drop from the sky like a rock! No, it would be more like a terrible shower of pebbles because the whole thing would disintegrate into many, many pieces as it fell.

Opening the access panel and jockeying the receptacle out of its cavity, Amir then reached into different big pockets of his airport uniform beneath the yellow rain gear and began the final assembly of the device. Then he set the timer to the number of hours he had been given and carefully armed it before taping it to the interior bottom of the receptacle with black tape.

Satisfied with his work, he returned the trashcan to its place and put everything back as it should be, carefully wiping down the area so no smudges or fingerprints would give anyone reason to be curious.

Amir/Muhammed put those used paper towels into his trash bag, gave the immaculate cabin another once-over, then he was done. Exiting the jet, he closed the aircraft's door and went to another aircraft waiting on the ramp with a smile. Tomorrow was his scheduled day off which would allow him to follow all of the news without interruption on the big ship that would carry him home. This had been a long time coming, but the wait will have been worth it.

* * *

Director Morrow was exceptionally pleased with the reception the plans for the agency's overhaul were being received. In the meetings, the attendees were fully engaged, were making some excellent suggestions, asking good questions. He hoped the remainder of the cities he was scheduled to visit went as well. Tomorrow, they would wrap up things here and would leave sometime in the late morning/early afternoon. Or that was their intent, anyway.

He looked forward to another evening with his detail, his 'kids' as he called them privately. Traveling could be very wearing, but Morrow would readily admit that he was actually enjoying being out with this bunch. They not only protected him, their antics and interactions when not 'out' on duty always made him laugh and kept him interested and feeling fresh. If it wasn't Marty starting something, it was Tony - and _no one_ was exempt from their pokes and jibes, not even him, and he loved it.

The two women could give as good as they got, as well - usually even better - so the two instigators were a little skittish in taking them on because they often wandered into a trap that they would prefer to avoid. And the 'girls' sat back with patient little smirks, waiting, like two sleek, relaxed cats who were waiting for just the right moment to spring. Morrow could usually see it coming which made it that much funnier when whoever was the instigator tried to figure out how he had 'messed up', as Marty called it.

Sam could play the piano a bit, though she was nowhere as accomplished as the head of the detail. She and Tony attempted a couple of duets together and they actually weren't that bad. Not that good, but not awful, either. All of them enjoyed their efforts. Samantha had really loosened up as time had passed and she was now an excellent teammate and the others liked working with her and having her with them. Especially Tony, though he was keeping his interest carefully underwraps.

Another night here, a breakfast meeting in the suite with two of the leading people in this office, then a last general meeting at ten, then probably a bite of lunch, get everything repacked and leave. The next flight would be a much longer one and everyone except the pilots could relax and nap if they wanted.

Molly sat at a writing desk working on her flight plans, one for real that no one outside of this group would see, then a fake one centering on some other city that would be balled up and left in a trashcan, if anyone else cared to check it out.

Tim checked online for weather patterns and forecasts. He'd check them again in the morning for the latest information and would call the FAA to file her flight plan, activating it when they were cleared to taxi tomorrow. The jet's fuel cells were topped off to the max when they had arrived and the engines were serviced, as well.

* * *

The next morning, the agents awakened early, packed their belongings and ordered their breakfasts so they would be finished in plenty of time for the table to be cleared before the arrival of the Director's two scheduled guests, though Morrow did manage to swipe a up of coffee from Tim when the agent wasn't looking.

Morrow's meeting went a bit long so they hurried to the larger meeting which also went a bit long. The Director's transport vehicles arrived and waited patiently until the man was ready to leave. Wolfe slipped out at Tony's direction and escorted a covey of bellmen upstairs to collect all the baggage and have it taken downstairs to the waiting SUVs and loaded.

When Morrow was ready, they'd leave, though the meeting was going far past its ending time. Finally, Tony stood and discreetly cleared his throat.

With a touch of a sparkle in his eyes, Morrow apologized to those attending, saying that he absolutely had to leave and stood to applause. The Director saw the gleam in Tony's eye as he held a door open for him and growled quietly out the side of his mouth, "Whatever you're thinking, DiNozzo, can it!"

In return, DiNozzo softly exclaimed, "Director, you wound me!"

"Hmph! Now I know why Gibbs used all those head slaps!" Both still wore the remains of their wide smiles as they boarded their vehicles and headed for the airport.

* * *

The sullen, wet weather still hung over the northwestern part of the country, but there was nothing to keep them from taking off and soon they'd be high over the clouds in bright sunshine. They'd decided to just have a late lunch on board rather than eat at the hotel. They were already behind schedule as it was.

As soon as the white jet broke out on top of the clouds, Molly turned the seat belt sign off and sat back with a quiet sigh.

"Everything okay, Mac?"

"Oh, yeah, Tim; I'm good. I just miss Jethro. I know somebody has to stay behind to take care of business while the Director is away, but I sure wish he could come with us."

Tim grinned. "Can you see Gibbs conducting these meetings?"

Molly just laughed right out loud. "Hardly! Instead of discussion, he'd just tell them the way things were gonna be and then walk out!"

She continued in a quiet voice, "Tim, I - have to say, though - I've been wonderin' about doin' both of these extra jobs and bein' an agent in between travel. Doesn't leave a lot of time for home."

"Gibbs unhappy?"

"He hasn't said anything, but I'm considerin' droppin' everything except the flyin' and detail part. Just thinkin' about it, ya understand. Guess I should give it a little more time, though I'd like to have more time for Jethro and Casey."

"How's Casey doing?"

"Great! Couldn't be any better. She's found out what a real home is like and she's thrivin'. Amazin' grades at school. A completely different person than she was before. Or, I guess I should say that she's now allowin' her real self to show."

"I'm really glad to hear that. She sure loves to fly, doesn't she?"

"Oh, yes! She's worse than I ever wa - - -"

Tony stuck his head into the cockpit. "Uh, excuse me, MollyMac. You mind coming back and see if you can tell what's up with Roger? He's not happy."

Molly's eyes instantly filled with concern. "You got it, Tim."

"Go. I got it."

Molly hurried to the back where Roger sat unhappily in the middle of the aisle. "What happened?"

Tony shrugged, "He was quiet under the Director's table until Marty when back to the lav. When he came out, Roger seemed determined to go in there, but we pulled him back. He's been sitting there whining ever since."

Chills broke out all over Molly's small body. Pushing past Tony, she softly called, "Roger, come," as she opened the lavatory door. Roger raced inside and began rapidly sniffing, finally zeroing in on the access panel for the lav trash can.

Quickly working the fasteners that released the panel, Molly worked the can out and froze with a gasp as she peered inside. ' _Dear God, help us!'_

She sat the can on the floor, petted and praised Roger for a moment, the only reward he ever expects, then pointed him back under the table.

Every eye in the cabin was fastened on her white face. Molly took a calming deep breath, then told the others quietly, "There is a bomb on board. The timer indicates we have forty-two minutes to get on the ground. That's not a problem. Tony, as soon as we get stopped, get that cabin door open and everyone of you run together as far as you can get away from the plane. Got that, Tony ?"

"Yeah. What about you and Tim?"

"We'll be right behind you. Just be sure Roger is with you and don't let go of his leash!"

Molly returned quickly to the cockpit and briefed Tim. His naturally light coloration got lighter still. "How...?"

"Dunno."

She strapped herself into her seat quickly and picked up the mike, glancing at their latest position on the screen be front of her, to determine which air traffic sector they were in at the moment. They weren't all that far from Salt Lake City so they'd easily make the time deadline.

"Center, Gulfstream One-Niner Foxtrot, declarin' an emergency, bomb located in aft lavatory. Request direct approach to Salt Lake City soonest. Approximately forty minutes left on the clock."

"Roger, One-Niner Foxtrot. Understand, expect further directions momentarily. Priority handling. Understand less than forty minutes remaining to detonation."

"Roger, Center. One-Niner Foxtrot standin' by."

In the busy air traffic control center, the muted voices controlling hundreds of flights through the skies, toward and away from congested airports throughout several states in its jurisdiction, the men and women in the center were quickly clearing space for the Gulfstream to turn around and come straight into the large airport.

Emergency equipment would be waiting in position for their arrival and, time permitting, they would be directed to a safe zone on the airport where the bomb could hopefully be removed and disarmed in time. If it couldn't be disarmed, the plane's explosion wouldn't place others in jeopardy.

Tim had already opened his Jeppesen manual that contained the approach plates to every airport in the US to the proper page, ready to give Molly the headings back toward that airport.

The controller in the ATC center called, "One-Niner Foxtrot, turn to a heading of three-two-zero and descend to an altitude of thirty-six thousand."

Tim answered, "Roger, One-Niner Foxtrot turning to heading of three-two-zero, descending to thirty-six thousand."

To hear the voices of the cockpit crew, no one would suspect that their lives were in mortal danger. Professional all the way.

Molly kept the jet on the proper headings and at the correct altitudes as the controller carefully directed them back toward Salt Lake City where they could make a safe landing.

The Center's shift supervisor kept check on his watch as the minutes ticked by. Compared with the speed that the jet was maintaining, there would be no problem with time. In another six or seven minutes, they'd be safely on the ground, plenty of time for the bomb squad to disarm it.

In the cabin, Marty, using his expertise and experience with bombs, had removed the device from the trash container. Turning it over, he was shocked to see another set of numbers on the underside. He yelled at Tony, "Barometric! Stop descent!"

Tony rushed into the cockpit, "PULL UP! PULL UP!" he yelled. "It's also a barometric bomb!"

Molly pushed the throttles forward as Tim grabbed his mike. "Center, it's also a barometric bomb. Aborting descent, be back with you in a moment."

The controller was shocked at this new revelation, but his professionalism showed as he calmly responded, "Roger, Gulfstream. Standing by."

Silence seemed to stretch into eternity as they waited to hear back from the sleek jet now headed back up to a higher altitude.

Tony explained, "Marty looked it over and found it hidden on the bottom side. If we drop below fifty-five hundred feet, ... we're toast," he ended softly.

Molly asked quietly, "How much time, Tony?"

"Thirty-one minutes," he answered softly.

Molly nodded and picked up her mike. "Center, One-Niner Foxtrot. The bomb is set to go off in approximately thirty minutes or if we drop below fifty-five hundred feet. Find me a place to put this thing down. Denver isn't high enough, is there anything else?"

The Controller answered, "We're working on it, Gulfstream. Give us a minute."

"We may not have a minute, Center."

"Understand, Captain. We're on it."

Molly just clicked her mike. To her right, Tim was searching as fast a possible to find an airport anywhere in that timeframe that would exceed that altitude, but it was slow going.

* * *

Director Morrow kept himself quiet and non intrusive on the efforts his detail and pilots were making to save all their lives. Tony kept him updated.

He pulled out his cellphone, thinking who to call first. There was no one at his home except the housekeeper and his sons were scattered around the world, one of them on a sub deep underwater.

Then he punched in a number and waited a moment until a gruff voice answered on the second ring.

"Got a problem here, Gibbs," he said softly and calmly. "Seems we have a bomb on board and Molly and Tim are working with ATC on how to solve the problem." He continued, filling in his right-hand man on the situation.

He heard the tightness in Gibbs' voice as he fired off question after question. "Gibbs, we don't have answers to most of those questions yet. I just wanted you to know first hand what we're dealing with. Didn't want you to find out through the media. Don't know if or when they'll get wind of it. Contact the next of kin of all on board, please and ask them to keep it under their hats. You got somebody there who can help you?"

"Yeah. Balboa's and Johansson's teams are still on duty. I'll get some of them to help." There was a long pause before Gibbs voice very softly asked, "She okay, Tom?"

"Yes. Doing a magnificent job of working with ATC and keeping us updated. Be really proud of her, Gibbs. She and Tim are two of the best I've ever seen. Okay, I gotta go for now. I'll - call back if I can." This time it was Morrow's voice that paused before signing off, "Talk to you later, Gibbs."

He punched in another number and waited until SecNav answered with a smile, "Better be important, Morrow. You're interrupting work for my anniversary dinner!"

"Sorry, sir. Got - a problem up here." He took a deep breath then released it. "We have a bomb on board, sir. Don't know if we can get down on time at this point but they're working hard on it. Just wanted to give you a personal heads up. Gibbs is at the Yard and handling everything on that end. I'll call back if I may and if there's time. Tell Sharon I'm sorry about your dinner."

SecNav's face blanched white at the news, "My God, man! Tell me!"

Morrow filled him in with the little that was known at the time and hung up leaving a badly distraught Secretary of the Navy sitting in shock, then he had calls of his own that had to be made.

SecNav's wife stood in the doorway of his study, watching her husband calmly making calls even though his hands were slightly shaking. This dinner could wait though she brought him a cup of hot coffee, setting it on the desk, lightly touching his shoulder as she quietly moved away.

Director Morrow realized that he could do no more and sat quietly with his thoughts as precious minutes ticked by. He glanced at his watch again. Somehow he didn't think they were going to beat this thing. They were hampered by the minimum altitude thing and by the minutes remaining.

Not quite the way he had imagine his ending but at least it would be very, very quick. They probably wouldn't even know what hit them.

He looked at these young people on this plane with him. They were just coming into the prime of their lives, finding their life mates with whom to settle into marriages and start their families. This was criminal in more ways than one.

How had the bomb been put on the plane to begin with? Theoretically it had been under guard the whole time. Well, doubtless Gibbs would dig out all the answers no matter how long it took or what he had to do to solve the case.

Tony. What a mind that boy has! He could think faster than anybody he'd ever even heard of. So full of energy he couldn't contain it.

Marty. So much like Tony. So delightful to be around, yet so very, very capable and serious when it counted. Even now he was doing his best to try to disarm the bomb, but it was actually two bombs in one, so ordinary disarming didn't necessarily work in this case. Trying to stop one may well set off the other.

Samantha Wolfe. Such a lovely young woman and so capable. Excellent instincts and a most valuable agent. Though he didn't know her as well as he did the others, he could see that she was cut from the same piece of cloth as her teammates.

Tim and Molly. His heart broke for them. They were always so careful, looking after every detail concerning this complicated piece of machinery called a jet aircraft. It just wasn't fair to them. He knew they'd do everything and anything to try to save them all but it didn't really seem they'd be able to get out of it this time.

Maybe they weren't supposed to come home this time. Maybe their time was just up and they all should accept it. He growled at himself. No. He wouldn't give up. None of his agents had and he knew they wouldn't, no matter what.

Shaking off his morbidity, he took another deep breath and let his thoughts turn to his wife. How very happy they had been for forty-two years, but now he was alone and missed her badly.

His cellphone chirped and he opened it, seeing that it was SecNav.

"Yes, sir?"

"Got a sitrep, Tom?"

"Nothing yet, sir. But they're trying hard."

"Any idea how the bomb was put aboard?"

"No. Figured Gibbs would do that later - if it goes off."

"SecDef has DOD working on it also. They're plugged in to the Control Center's computers and are following you. You - talked to your boys?"

"No. They all deployed overseas."

SecNav thought for a moment, not sure what to say. The Director of an armed federal agency may be dead in mere minutes and he couldn't think of anything to say to him.

Understanding, Morrow told him, "We're good, sir. Working to solve it. If they do, they do. If they don't, it sure wasn't for lack of trying. I do want you to know that this detail, these agents, are the best of the best and trust that you'll see to it that they get the praise they are due for handling everything so calmly and professionally. I want to be on record as telling you that they all make me so very proud; they represent the heart and soul of NCIS. I'm damn proud to be associated with them! Take care of yourself, sir. Talk to you later."

With that the call ended. The Secretary of the Navy sat silent and unmoving in his study, cellphone still in his hand as he stared at the small clock on his desk, innocently ticking and ticking and ticking. His aide stayed quietly in the background not wanting to interrupt the Secretary's thoughts. It had to be terrible to be on that jet, knowing that they were trapped up there, unable to put down anywhere.

* * *

Tim exclaimed, "Molly, I've got it! Little airport in Mackay, Idaho, seventy-nine hundred feet!" He grabbed his mike, "Center, One-Niner Foxtrot, immediate clearance to Mackay, Idaho. We're turning in that direction how!"

Tim gave Molly an approximate heading and she glanced at the ship's clock. Twenty-two minutes. She shoved the throttles as far forward as they would go and the jet shot off toward Idaho as fast, probably faster, than its designers would ever believe.

Molly picked up the cabin mike. "Tony, come up front, please."

His long legs took him there quickly.

"We might have a chance, Tony. Little airport in Idaho is high enough though the runway is much too short. We might - well, we will go off the end and I don't know what the terrain around the airport is. When we stop, just get the door open and get everybody off as fast as you can. Got that? And don't forget Roger!"

"Yeah, I got it, MollyMac! Will do. Just be sure that you and Tim get out, too."

Molly nodded, "Yeah."

DiNozzo returned to the cabin to tell the others what was happening. He turned to the former Marine SpecOps man, "How much time, Marty?" he asked quietly.

Equally as calm and softly, O'Brien answered, "Eighteen minutes, thirty-one seconds, Tony."

Marty cleared his throat before he spoke again, "Uh, Tony, let me be first out and I'll take this thing with me. Once I'm clear of the airplane, I'll throw it as hard as I can."

The two men studied each other's eyes, then Tony nodded. "Just be sure you throw it in time. It'll mess up your whole day if you miscalculate."

"Yeah. No worries, Boss. Just get that door open as fast as you can."

Tony nodded. He turned and saw Samantha across the aisle staring at her hands lying motionless in her lap. She also had the thought that this was a turn of events that she had never considered before. There was so much she still wanted to do in her lifetime. She never really thought that her life would be so short. She felt that, so far, she had done so little of any true importance in her time on earth. She felt sad that she'd never have the chance to make a difference.

When she was growing up, her old grandfather had spoken at great length to her about the responsibility that all humans carried to make the world a better place when they left it than when they had first arrived. People. Land. Animals. All deserved to be cared for. And so far, she had not done that.

Tony sat in the seat beside her for a moment.

"How ya doing, Sam?"

She looked at him, her exquisite face calm though a little pale. "I'm - okay, Tony. Disappointed."

"About what?"

She told him of her grandfather's words that he had spoken and demonstrated to her, ingraining those ideas and ideals into her. "But I've done nothing," she said. "He will be so disappointed in me."

Tony placed one large hand over hers. "He'll always be proud of you, Sam. Your position in NCIS, your presence on this hand-picked detail say it all for you. If - we get out of this, you talk to him. You'll see."

She managed something of a smile as she glanced up at his face, thinking for a moment that she wanted him to lean down just a little further and kiss her. She wanted that so much, but she'd never allow herself to give in to it.

Tony, gazing into those dark, dark eyes, wanted to lean down and taste the sweetness he knew he'd find on her lips. But he couldn't. If he did, that meant that he had given up and he refused to do that. He would hope and believe until he was blasted into tiny little pieces that would never be recognized as parts of the human who had been known on earth as Anthony D. DiNozzo, jr.

* * *

In the cockpit, Molly was coaxing everything the jet had in it to get to the small country airport before the bomb went off. This was a bare-bones little airport without navigational aids, without a control tower, without runway lights. But it was high enough. If they could just get there in time.

She picked up the mike, "Center, One-Nine Foxtrot. Distance to airport?"

"You're about twelve minutes out, Captain. Be aware that the airport is pretty much surrounded by peaks averaging twelve thousand feet."

"Roger that, Center. Is there anyone listed that can be called to expect us?"

"We're working on that, ma'am. Hoping to locate the county sheriff."

Softly Molly answered, "Thank you, Center. We appreciate all you're doin'."

Center's mike clicked once.

In the darkened radar room of the large control center, anxious eyes watched the small blip on the screen move steadily toward the target in a deadly race against time. Landing on a runway that was too short was far from ideal and they'd be fortunate if they didn't wind up flipping, catching a wingtip that would cartwheel them or worse when they went off the end of the narrow paved strip.

No one spoke. They couldn't stop staring at that little blip, willing it to go faster, even though the speed monitor indicated that the jet was moving well above six hundred miles per hour. Gulfstream had built a masterpiece of an aircraft, but even it had limitations. Apparently the crew had found little ways to get every ounce of speed out of it that it was capable of producing. The pair of Rolls Royce engines powering it were at max and then some.

* * *

In the cockpit, Molly and Tim exchanged a long look that said so much. A small smile was exchanged as Tim reached over and took hold of Molly's hand, giving it a squeeze. "You're one helluva pilot, Mac. I'm glad to be here with you."

Before Molly could respond, Center called, "One-Niner Foxtrot, descend to twenty-thousand feet on present heading."

Tim answered and acknowledged. At least they had that calm voice with them. Both thought of Austin Williams who had stayed with them throughout most of their hazardous, unexpected flight around the world.

Tim referred to the chart in his manual. "Looks like we'll be coming almost straight in. Only forty-six hundred feet of paved runway. As heavy as we are with fuel, I don't think we'll be able to stop in that distance, do you?"

Molly shook her head, looking at her instruments and glancing at his chart, checking out what little information was available. They'd just have to do the best they could with what they had to work with.

Tim chuckled briefly, "My dad quoted General George Patton as saying, ' A good battle plan that you act on today can be better than a perfect one tomorrow.'"

Molly muttered, "Let's hope we _have_ a tomorrow!" as she adjusted settings here and there, watching instruments carefully, trying to avoid looking at the clock.

Center called, "One-Niner Foxtrot, you should now be over the valley where Mackay airport is located. Descend to ten thousand feet if you have a visual on the terrain below you."

"Roger, Center. Have visual on terrain and descendin' on below eight thousand in preparation for landin'."

"Roger, One-Niner Foxtrot. Descend at your discretion...good luck."

Molly keyed the mike, then announced to the cabin. "We're almost there. Hope to have us on the ground in a few more minutes. Buckle in a tight as you can, bend over and grab your ankles. That gives you the best chance. It will probably get pretty rough when we run out of runway. We don't know what is there - but we don't have another choice."

She paused a moment, then added, "God, be with us and cast Your Divine protection over us...Okay, we're making a straight-in approach now. Somebody hold onto Roger."

Marty glanced at the clocked ticking steadily downward and closed his eyes tightly. Only four minutes left... three minutes...

In the cabin, they heard the gear going down, locking into place.

In the cockpit, the runway looked miniscule and both pilots gritted their teeth. Molly was bringing the jet in as fast as she dared but knew it would take a great deal longer to get it stopped. A terrible choice to have to make.

Marty glanced at the descending numbers on the timer. One minute, five seconds ... four ... three...

* * *

::

continued

::


	5. Chapter 5

.

NCIS

The Carolina Connection Series

Book 3 Part 2

THE DETAIL

Chapter 5

Marty had his eyes closed as tightly as possible as he clutched the bomb close against his body. He couldn't take a chance of losing his grip on it in the crash that surely awaited them at the end of the runway. If he could just get out of the wreckage and run with the explosive, the others might survive. He'd throw it but didn't realistically expect to have enough separation from the device when it exploded to escape the blast.

Director Morrow had Roger in his arms, holding onto him tightly. He may not be a young man but he was still strong. He wouldn't let anything harm this shepherd if he could possibly help it. The dog was already a decorated Marine combatant, and he had given them the best chance possible of surviving by alerting them to the bomb's presence as soon as he got the scent when the lav door was first opened.

Roger was frankly scared. He knew what bombs did; he'd seen many in Afghanistan. He knew where his human called Molly was but didn't really understand why this man he was to protect was holding him so tightly and not her. He didn't struggle at being held like this but he really wanted his human. She had aways taken care of him as each of his handlers in war had done; they were good humans and he remembered each one of them. But he loved being with her and was totally dedicated to her. There were not many guns or explosions and fewer people trying to kill them all. Maybe some of those evil humans had followed him here.

He knew there was a bomb because he had smelled it, but there was not another place to go in this thing he was in now. He knew it moved but completely different than a car. This one was up in the air somehow and he didn't know how to get out of it. For now, he'd have to trust that these humans knew what to do but he was anxious.

Tony made sure Sam was properly belted in and had an arm across her back to keep her head down as Molly had instructed. He sent up a most heart-felt prayer to a God he knew had to exist but with whom he was not all that well acquainted. He was the only One to save them if they had any chance at all.

In the cockpit, Tim followed Molly's commands instantly, realizing that he was witnessing a piece of flying like he'd never see again. The jet was responding to her every command as she used every subtlely in and out of the book to make the aircraft do what she demanded of it. Instinct and experience was her driving force in flying the jet during that time.

Finally the high mountains were behind them, they had made a steep descent toward the floor of the valley, and now the gear was out, ready to touch down on the narrow strip of pavement that served as a runway here. Tim had lost track of time and had no idea how many minutes or seconds they had left on the bomb's timer.

Then suddenly the tires bumped down on the runway and Molly instantly stood on the brakes and activated the rarely-used reverse thrust on the engines, using the power that ordinarily blasted them into the skies in flight, now that same force was being directed forward, helping them stop. But still the jet raced down the runway, slowly bleeding off speed, the brakes screeching in protest, the unexpected roar of noise as the power from the engines was now being directed forward instead of behind.

They were steadily slowing but not fast enough on this very short runway. Looking out the windscreen, both Molly and Tim could see the rough ground at the end of the pavement waiting for them. Then Molly made out what that strange object was sitting in their path further down from the end of the pavement: a huge dumpster.

As they jet first made contact with the rough ground at the end of the runway, the plane was heavily jarred and lurched this way and that as Molly fought for what little control she still had over the jet. Seeing the dumpster looming larger and larger, she yelled at Tim, "STAND RIGHT!", telling him to get on the right-side brake with her, hoping to spin the jet around to avoid slamming into the immovable object.

Feeling as if she could reach out her hand and touch the big receptacle, the jet's right gear seemed to gain a purchase at last and began to dig into the hard-packed dirt, slinging the nose of the jet back toward the direction it had just come from.

Visibility in front of them was now very limited from the thick cloud of dust and debris the jet's passage had blown into the air. Following the jet's every nuance through her body and senses, Molly felt the plane begin to tilt to the left from left-over momentum of their forward speed. Turning controls and brakes in that direction, the cabin seemed to stabilize and the jet finally came to a shuddering stop.

Behind them, the pilots heard the cabin door opening, someone hitting one step then footsteps pounded away from the jet. Bare seconds later, a monstrous explosion blasted the quiet country air, rocking the jet hard to one side before it righted itself.

They were alive.

* * *

Tim unbuckled his seatbelt and harness and left the cockpit to check on the others while Molly completed shutting everything down.

She sat there for a moment, just listening to the noise around her, still breathing more rapidly than normal. Voices outside called back and forth to each other.

One last switch still open, she keyed the mike, saying quietly, "Center, One-Niner Foxtrot is on the ground. Bomb detonated away from the aircraft. Will call back after I investigate more in-depth."

An anxious voice answered, exhaling as if he had been holding his breath, "Roger, One-Niner Foxtrot. Glad you're down. Will stand by for status report. ... Good job, Captain."

Molly keyed the mike one time, then hit that last switch, killing the last of the power.

She loosened her restraints and climbed out of her seat, and turned toward the cabin. Tony came bounding up the stairs, breathing hard.

In response to Molly's look, he said, "Marty's okay. A little banged up but okay." He stood in silence for a long moment, just looking into Molly's face, then wrapped both arms around her, holding her tightly. He looked at her again, unable to say anything just yet. Their eyes said it all, anyway; there are times when words simply don't work.

Molly left the jet and joined Tim in making a careful examination of the plane. There were many small dents and dings from rocks and other debris picked up and blown upward by their rapid passage and maneuvering after landing but those were cosmetic things that could be dealt with later.

Their concern was with the landing gear, the condition of the tires, the engines and other mechanical parts. Without these being within acceptable boundaries, the jet wouldn't move until maintenance from who-knows-where arrived with the right parts and made repairs.

Molly glanced around her, seeing people standing in front of nearby houses staring at the newcomers with astonishment. Then flashing blue-and-red lights atop a big SUV in the distance caught her attention and she sighed. Okay, time to meet with the LEOs.

Leaving Tim to continue making the inspection, Molly walked toward Director Morrow who was standing quietly off to the side holding Roger's leash.

She found something like a tired smile to exchange with him and asked as she knelt to hug Roger, "You okay, Director?"

He released a half-chuckle. "Other than being quite a bit older than I was when we left Seattle, yes, I'm fine, Mac." He just watched her as she petted the huge shepherd and buried her face in his thick fur for a moment. He didn't know what to say. His mind hadn't really processed all these events and emotions they'd all experienced in the last forty-two minutes.

Finally, he put a hand on her small shoulder and told her very softly, "Thanks, Mac."

Just as softly, she smiled a touch as she responded, "There were two of us, sir. Tim was workin' as hard as possible to keep everything in order in a rapidly changin' situation. Not many could have done what he did. He was with me every second, knowin' what I was gonna need and had it when I needed it. He's the best, sir!"

"I don't doubt it for one second, but I also know who was flying the pants off this airplane. I'd love to hear Gulfstream's analysis of this flight."

Molly's smile widened. "Oh, I'll probably hear from Ken Murchison most any time now."

"You and Tim going to write another book?"

"Absolutely not, sir! Wish we hadn't written the first one now."

Samantha approached with a supporting arm around Marty who was indeed a little worse for wear. There was a large red raw, bleeding patch that extended from the top of his right cheekbone almost down to his jawbone where he had apparently skidded across the rough ground on his face. One arm was in a makeshift sling using Sam's scarf; they weren't sure what all was wrong with his arm and shoulder. He was limping from what he believed was a twisted ankle and was peppered all over with small, painful burns as hot shrapnel from the bomb had rained down on him.

Morrow's forehead wrinkled in concern as he asked, "You okay, son?"

"Yes, sir. Nothin' a couple of bandaids won't handle."

Morrow shook his head. "What is it with you Marines? Won't ever admit to being wounded."

"'Cause we're Marines, sir." And there was that cheeky little grin again.

"They teach you how to grin like that, too?"

"No, sir. That comes from just _bein'_ a Marine."

Morrow shook his head as the SUV with the flashing lights pulled up and a big beefy man wearing the uniform and star of the county sheriff, along with a stetson and cowboy boots, approached them.

Molly stepped forward with outstretched hand. "Sheriff. Molly MacKenzie. Sorry for droppin' in like this but we had a problem and only your airport could save us."

The man stood at least six-foot-five and intelligent gray eyes looked out at the world from a weathered face. "Harland Barker, ma'am," as his enormous hand grasped her small one very gently. "Got a call from the FAA about you. See you got it down okay. And I take it the bomb exploded somewhere else?"

Then she and Tony related their story. Tony added, "I've got a man who needs medical attention. Got a facility around somewhere?"

"Yeah, got a small clinic almost across the street over there. Closed now, but I'll get 'em to open it for you."

"Heard from somebody in DoD that you've got some kinda big wig on board?"

Molly tried to swallow a grin as she flashed a fast glance at the Director who stepped forward with his hand extended. "Guess that would be me, Sheriff. Tom Morrow, Director of NCIS."

Barker turned his narrowed eyes toward the tall, slim man holding the leash of about the biggest German Shepherd he'd ever seen. He nodded as he shook the man's hand. "Director. Anything we can do for you?"

"No, my agents will take care of everything, but I appreciate your offer. When Mac and Tim finished checking the airplane over, and Marty gets patched up, we'll probably be leaving. Molly?"

Hearing her name, she approached her Boss after she had left to check with Tim. "Yes, sir?"

"How's it looking?"

"So far, so good, though I don't know how we're going to take-off. This runway is way, way too short."

The Sheriff asked, "How much ya need, ma'am?"

"At least a mile and a half. Minimum. Air is thin here and we're loaded with fuel. It'll take every inch of that."

The Sheriff turned and studied a stretch of dual-lane highway behind him. "We've got a pretty long stretch of road here. Think you can use that?"

Molly answered, "Let me have a look," as she and Tim followed the Sheriff over to Idaho Highway 93 that parallelled the little airport runway.

The highway went through the middle of the tiny town of Mackay, population of certainly less than two hundred, and there were a number of power lines that crisscrossed it. However, once past the town, there were no overhead lines and the road was as straight as an arrow though it undulated a bit with the floor of the valley.

"Yes, sir, this will do nicely. If we could start the takeoff roll from about here, we'd be able to safely lift off down the road past the town. Would that be okay?"

"Yes, ma'am. Soon as we get your boy patched up, we'll block two miles of the road just to be safe and you can go, if that's what you want."

"Sure would appreciate it, sir. It's been - a pretty rough afternoon for us. We're way, way late now and got a long way to go yet."

"Need to stay the night?"

She and Tim exchanged a look that agreed they'd press on. "No, sir, but we thank you."

Sheriff Barker said, "Well, lemme get your boy and - "

"That _boy's_ name is Special Agent Marty O'Brien, Sheriff. Former Marine Special Ops and the man who carried that bomb away from the rest of us, risking _his_ _own life_ to save ours."

"Uh, yes, ma'am. Sorry. I'll call Lucy and get her to open the clinic." He touched the brim of his stetson as he turned away, pulling out a cellphone as he walked. Behind her, the Director grinned.

Rejoining the others, Molly and Tim updated them on the plan of action. Tony told Wolfe, "Sam, go with Marty and try to keep him out of jail. Not sure we could come up with bail money out here."

Sam laughed and took a slightly pale looking O'Brien by the elbow, walking him toward the Sheriff's SUV, listening to his protests every step of the way.

Molly told the others they could reboard if they wanted. "No need to stand out here." She took Roger on a short walk around before taking him back to the plane. She spent long minutes with him, talking softly to him, stroking his soft, shiny fur. He soaked up the comfort, love and reassurance she offered and was now ready to reboard the jet. In Roger's world, his human could take care of anything.

Tony and Tim were walking through the explosion site trying to identify and pick out important parts of the bomb to take back to the lab. Dave and Abby might be able to find some clues as to the origin of it and who had made it.

They located a surprising amount, placing everything in ziplock bags they had scrounged from the aircraft's galley to use as substitute evidence bags, marking them and signing their names. Using their cellphones as cameras, they photographed as much as possible. Since Marty had taken photos from the time he first looked in the trash receptacle and both sides of the bomb, they actually had pretty thorough documentation.

Molly did a quick sketch of the site and its relationship to the position of the jet on the blank back of a nav sheet to give to them, then returned to the aircraft.

Turning on galley power, Molly brewed a fresh pot of coffee and pulled out a tray of sandwiches which she and the Director started on while they waited for the others. Roger was rewarded with little bits and pieces of turkey and chicken which he very, very gently took from the fingers of the two humans and lapped up some cool fresh water.

Molly soon excused herself to go make a private call to Jethro. Just after they'd gotten down, she'd made one extremely brief call to him that consisted of no more than, "We're down. I'll call you back." At least he'd know they were safe.

Now that she had info and plans, she'd give him a sitrep.

Gibbs' phone hardly finished the first ring when he answered, "Where are you?"

"Mackay, Idaho. Elevation seventy-nine hundred feet." She gave him a thorough sitrep, then listened to his quiet, exhausted voice. Assured that everyone either was or would be okay, his racing heart would finally begin to slow.

"Comin' home soon?"

"The Director hasn't said anything. As far as I know, we'll continue to destination tonight and pick up where we left off. If there's any change, I'll let you know."

"I need you here, Molly-girl. I didn't ... I ... uh... today..."

"Yeah, I know, babe. We'll talk when I get home. I've been thinkin' about some of this stuff, too."

"Yeah," was his only response, as if he no longer had the energy to even speak.

"Everybody there okay, Jethro?"

She heard him take a deep breath. "Yeah. Balboa's people and Johansson's team stayed. We...I... glad you called. It ..."

"I know, Jethro, I know. Everything's okay now. I'm gonna go and see if I can get this thing onto the highway we'll be usin' as a runway for takeoff. Soon as Marty gets back from the medical clinic, we oughtta be ready. Tim and Tony are workin' the explosion site, tryin' to collect what evidence they might be able to find. The Director and Roger are on board with me. Sam's babysittin' Marty."

Molly could hear Gibbs' still slightly ragged breathing on the phone as she said quietly, "Gotta go, babe. I love you."

"Yeah."

The connection closed.

* * *

Tim and Tony stowed the evidence bags in their go-bags, then Tim clamped on a noise suppression headset and acted as plane marshall as Molly lit up the engines and began to ease the jet back toward the narrow pavement of the runway as Tim guided her from a place out in front of the jet. They crept halfway down the runway as Tim both marshalled and watched the tires and landing gear for any signs of damage.

Molly watched gauges, looking for any tiny aberration that would indicate trouble. The first stage blades of the powerful engines had been checked carefully for any nick that would tell them that a rock or pebble had been ingested by either engine during the far-from-normal landing. So far everything seemed fine. Molly hoped nothing untoward would show up during takeoff on the make-shift runway.

Following the motion of Tim's hands, she kept both gear on the narrow runway, then carefully made the turn onto the short section of road that would take her to the edge of the highway. They'd wait there until the Sheriff returned Sam and Marty to the fold, then blocked off the long section of roadway for them.

Though the population of Mackay couldn't be more than a couple of hundred and it seemed as if every one of them were lining the sidewalks on either side of the road in the miniscule town to watch the shining white jet. This exciting event would dominate the conversation of the townspeople for weeks to come.

Molly shut down the engines, locked the brakes and opened the cabin door. Tim boarded and wiped his dusty face, then headed for the lavatory to clean up a little. He and Molly flopped into a pair of seats and just looked at each other. Truth be told, neither really believed they'd make it out of the scrape in which they had found themselves.

Molly muttered, "New job for Roger: a careful sweep of the plane before every flight."

Tim just nodded. "Him catching that scent when the door opened saved every one of us."

Molly nodded in agreement. Looking at her beloved companion sitting quietly under the Director's table, she patted her thigh, which was Roger's invitation to come to her. He didn't stop until he had clamored up into her lap. The only thing that could be seen of Molly were two legs from the knees down and a pair of slim arms wrapped around Roger's big body. He shifted until he was actually laying across her lap and halfway into Tim's. Neither one objected.

In time, the Sheriff's SUV appeared and discharged the two agents. The Sheriff had had a deputy block the road two miles from this point and he'd hold traffic from here. They didn't expect any except possibly somebody from one of the sprawling ranches in the general area.

Molly, Tony and the Director thanked him for his help, then the cabin door was closed and locked and Molly and Tim retreated to the cockpit and began meticulously going through the first of the checklists required.

Soon the engines wound up and Molly eased the jet onto the state highway, lining up with the centerline. She glanced at the throng of people clustered on the sidewalks and hoped they wouldn't be hit by too much jet blast as they thundered past. It would be noisy but the jet wouldn't have had time to build a lot of speed until they were past the last block of the town proper so they should be okay.

The Sheriff sat in his vehicle, lights flashing, just off the side of the road. As the jet turned onto the highway, Molly raised a hand in thanks and saw the big man's first smile since their unorthodox arrival as he touched the brim of his hat again with a single nod.

* * *

Tim called the Control Center. "Center, One-Niner Foxtrot."

"One-Niner Foxtrot, Center."

"One-Niner Foxtrot ready for takeoff on - uh - Highway 93 to resume filed flightplan."

There was a touch of a chuckle in the controller's voice as he responded, "One-Niner-Foxtrot, I assume you're clear for takeoff - or something - climb to fifteen thousand on a heading of one-twenty. Further instructions to follow."

Tim repeated back the instructions with a lightning-fast glance and nod at Molly, then told Center, "On takeoff roll now."

Tim clicked on the PA. "Everybody back there ready?"

Then the two pilots' hands on the twin throttles began to slowly add power and the gleaming jet began to roll, steadily picking up speed. The town was just a momentary blur as the jet continued to build speed.

As Tim called the V1 and V2 speeds they had calculated, Molly could feel through the controls that the jet wanted to fly and steadily pulled back on the yoke. Climbing into the clear Idaho late afternoon sky, they turned onto the heading given to them, then were cleared to the correct airway they needed to rejoin their originally planned flight path.

The eyes of everyone in the Mackay Valley followed them until they were lost from sight.

* * *

Everybody aboard released a big sigh of relief. As soon as Tim flicked the Seat Belt sign off, Tony got up, started the coffee machine again, then went to check on Marty.

"How're you doing, big guy?"

"Oh, I'm good, Boss. Nicks here and there. Ankle's a little swollen but it'll be okay. Got a handfull of creams or ointments of some kind to put on everything else. Face hurts like hell but that's to be expected when you faceplant into the ground. Probably gonna have a black eye."

Tony grunted. "No probably about it. I can see the lovely array of colors showing up already. How about a cup of coffee? Want a sandwich?"

"Yeah, that'd be real good, Tony. I'm...I'm sorry I got banged up, Boss. But I'll be okay to keep up with the detail. I'm good."

Tony snorted and gave the agent a sideways glance as he muttered, "Uh-huh." He left the seat, headed for the galley with a small smile on his face. He sent Marty's food and coffee to him via Sam, then began packing a couple of make-shift icepacks for Marty's ankle and bandaged face. He'd see if the agent would be able to carry on in the morning. If he couldn't make it, he knew another agent in New Orleans could fill in for him and give him a couple of days to recoup. Once Marty's face started to scab over, it would be as stiff as a board and painful to move. It probably hurt like blazes now!

The Director decided that he'd eat again in a little while; he made his way up front to the cockpit and tapped on the already open door.

"May I come in?"

The two pilots turned with smiles. "Sure, Director. Flip down that jumpseat and make yourself comfortable." Tim handed him a headset so he could hear all the communication and asked Tony or Sam to please bring them some coffee.

Tim asked, "You're doing okay, Director?"

"Yes, Tim. The two of you pulled off a miracle back there. I didn't think we'd make it this time."

Molly shook her head. "It was a close one, sir. Marty took a huge chance. He's very, very fortunate."

Morrow smiled slightly, saying, "Well, we had some pretty potent help, if you ask me. That little prayer, Mac, didn't fall on deaf ears, I'd say."

"Yes, sir. You're right. Only He could have gotten us through this."

She smiled wider, "Gulfstream never designed this jet to go as fast as it was. When you figure time and distance, we had to have been doin' something over six hundred and seventy miles per hour. This jet won't go that fast. But it did. I can't wait to talk to Ken Murchison and look over the performance data!"

"And, um, speakin' of Gulfstream, Director, I'd feel a lot better about things if I could have everything inspected by a tech. I have no indication that anything is wrong, but I'd rather be safe than sorry."

"This is your airplane, Mac. If you think it needs checking, then it'll be checked. I trust you and Tim without reservation."

Both responded with a soft "Thank you, sir" for Morrow's words. They knew he meant every word.

The rest of the flight was smooth and easy. Time passed and soon the lights of New Orleans were twinkling on the ground below them. Descent, landing, taxi to the ramp, engines shut down, gear chocked and another flight was complete. Late, but complete.

* * *

Amongst all the other things he managed while they were on the ground in Idaho, Tony had been in contact with Supervisory Special Agent Dwayne Pride, giving him a sitrep, then calling him later when they were again airborne.

Molly had told Tony that she'd likely stay awhile with the aircraft so she could get a mechanic to go over things, as well as talk to Gulfstream.

With Marty on the DL and her staying behind, they'd need a couple of agents to fill in for them on arrival. Pride had assured DiNozzo that it would be no problem.

After the detail left with the Director, Molly first contacted Ken Murchison.

"Mac! What have you done with our airplane now?"

She laughed and told him, "I really want to see the performance data on the last forty minutes before our arrival in Mackay earlier today."

"What were you doin'?"

"Racin' time so a bomb wouldn't blow us out of the sky."

" _What?_ I haven't heard a word about that. Today?"

"Yeah. Few hours ago. Give it a look and tell me what you see. I figured we were doin' six-seventy plus."

She waited a few minutes until he brought the correct information up on his screen. She had Tim's laptop and would receive a copy on this screen.

The info popped up on her screen and she saw the numbers, waiting for Ken to comment.

"Uh, Molly. Somethin' is wrong with this data. The 650 can't produce those numbers. We'll need to get into the computers and see if we can pinpoint what's wrong."

Molly commented quietly, "The numbers are correct, Ken. I estimated six hundred seventy from time and distance. I just wanted this to verify it."

The line was quiet and she could almost hear the wheels turning in Ken's mind. "Well, I don't know what to say, Mac. You were there and this verifies your belief but I just don't know what happened. I can't explain it."

Molly smiled gently. "I can, Ken. God answered a very short prayer as soon as we found the bomb."

"I sure won't disagree with that, Mac! Had a few of those prayers myself in times past," Ken drawled in his Oklahoma accent.

"We're in New Orleans for a couple of days and I want to have the plane looked over. Tim and I went over it thoroughly in Idaho and the instruments were perfect on the flight here, but I'd be much more comfortable if you could recommend someone here to do it."

"Got just your guy, Mac. I'll get in touch with him right now and will call you back."

"Great! I'll stand by."

Molly closed her phone and dropped it into a pocket, then began a slow walk around the jet alone. She ran her fingers across the smooth white finish as she walked, almost talking to the jet in her mind, just like you'd praise someone for doing something well.

And she whispered her heartfelt thanks to her God for hearing her prayer. Otherwise, all of them would be dead now.

* * *

Quietly observing from behind a neat picket fence that separated an expanse of grass beside the ramp and the parking area, NCIS Special Agent Chris LaSalle was captured by the private moment Agent MacKenzie was having with the jet. He understood. He hadn't had any experiences with an airplane but he'd been in situations where there was no way out, but he'd somehow gotten out alive anyway. He understood.

Shortly he saw a white-clad technician drive up in a golfcart, get out and approach MacKenzie, hand extended. She was apparently explaining things to him as he nodded and jotted down some notes. After a number of very long moments, she stepped back from the jet and just stood looking at it one last time, then she turned away from it and, head high, walked toward the neat office of the FBO, the Fixed Base Operator, who would be responsible for the aircraft and its servicing until she returned.

His long legs carried him quickly to the door of the building and met her as she exited. "Agent MacKenzie, Chris LaSalle. King told me to wait and give ya a ride to the hotel. Good to meet ya."

His demeanor, Southern manners and charm were exactly what Molly needed right now. A relaxed smile crossed her face for the first time in many hours.

"Hi, Chris. I'm Molly - and I need a big glass of genuine Southern iced tea real bad about now."

"Got just the place, Miss Molly! Hop in the truck."

* * *

::

continued

::


	6. Chapter 6

.

NCIS

The Carolina Connection Series

Book 3 Part 2

THE DETAIL - EPILOGUE

Chapter 6

The remainder of the Director's trip was thankfully uneventful, though security wasn't diminished in the slightest. After New Orleans came San Diego and Los Angeles in California; Jacksonville, Florida for all the many Navy/Marine bases there; Charleston, South Carolina, then up to Jacksonville, North Carolina for all the bases along the coast; then to Norfolk, Virginia and finally back to DC.

It was one tired bunch that deplaned onto the ramp at the eastern end of the field at Ronald Reagan National Airport and hauled luggage toward the agency sedans waiting for them.

At the Yard, they were welcomed back into the big squad room by applause, whistles and cheers from their peers. This was Thursday and Director Morrow had told his detail to take Friday off to go with their scheduled weekend off, not to report again until Monday.

And, again he praised them and thanked them for their work, their diligence and all their efforts on his behalf. Finally, Molly found herself being held by arms she had missed so badly before before leading Roger out to the Jeep, luggage piled in the back. Gibbs didn't even fuss about her "old lady driving", such as staying in her own lane, obeying posted speed limits and other 'trivial' traffic laws he normally disregarded.

Tony's team had been happy to see Jon Cartwright waiting in the bullpen to greet them. He was still restricted to desk duty, but he declared that he was fine and was chafing to be allowed back into the field. In their absence, he had been helping the other MCRTs with paperwork and he was ready to 'get back in the saddle again', as he put it.

Marty was glad to be home again and, as much as he hated to admit it, he didn't want to return to his own team; he wanted to stay with Tony's team. He wouldn't let his old team know it because they were good people, but somehow he just felt 'at home' with Tony's bunch. Well, he'd see how everything shook out when they settled in to work again.

Sam had no qualms about staying with her new team now. She was part of them and would stay until somebody made her leave. At least, since she couldn't pursue her private feelings about him, she could be close to Tony on the team.

* * *

NCIS, FBI, NSA and Homeland Security were working hard to find and break the cell that had caused so much trouble in regard to their attacks on the Director. The man who had actually placed the homemade bomb in One-Niner Foxtrot was nowhere to be found. He hadn't appeared for any of his work days since that last day. Agents knew he was probably on his way back to whatever Middle Eastern country he had come from. But they traced every tiny clue and were working their way up the cell's chain of command. Sooner or later, they'd find the leader, then they'd work on finding the leader's leader.

Attempts had been made on others in positions of leadership but so far, each had failed to harm the principal, though a number of agents had been wounded in addition to Jon Cartwright and Marty O'Brien.

The photos and evidence Tony and Tim brought back with them of the bomb would provide essential information that would prove valuable in tracking people and eventually breaking up this cell.

* * *

The following Monday, Marty hung around Tony's bullpen for so long that Tony looked askance at him. Speaking very softly, the agent finally quietly but bluntly said, "Tony, I want to stay with your team. You gotta admit you need the extra hands when on detail - and I wanna be the one there with you."

Tony nodded. He had also realized that instead of five, they really needed six agents to be fully effective. He answered, "Been thinking about that, Marty. Let me have a word with the Director. It's up to him to decide who is where."

Marty nodded. "I'll - just stand by."

Tony called upstairs and asked Paulette if she could find a little time for him on the Director's schedule.

"Give me just a moment, Agent DiNozzo, and I'll let you know. Hang on."

"Hanging on, then," as he waited.

Shortly she came back and told the SSA, "He has a short break in about fifteen minutes."

"That's great. Thanks, Paulette."

Marty tried to grin but his painfully sore face prevented it. Ducky had checked him last Friday and again today, keeping an ointment of some kind slathered on the terrible abrasion and ordering him to keep it covered at all times with large pads of gauze and tape. He also restricted him to desk duty until his ankle, arm and face vastly improved.

Ducky had stood his ground with a determined look on his face and a glare that would shame the worst that even Gibbs could come up with. Seeing the expression, Marty sighed and surrendered. No way would he take on the normally gentle Chief Medical Examiner.

"Yes, sir," he muttered softly.

Ducky chuckled, "Have no fear, lad. You'll be back out there quick enough, but right now your body is doing its best to repair and heal itself. You can only ask so much of it."

Marty nodded. He knew the genial medic was right but the macho Marine in him never wanted to admit defeat, no matter what the cause. And, Ducky understood that, as well.

Then Marty had asked Ducky, "Doc, will I be able to play the piano when the bandages come off?"

Ducky had looked at the agent with a slightly restrained smirk on his face and answered with his voice in a low register, "Agent O'Brien, if you could play before this unhappy event, you'll surely be able to play when it has healed."

Marty tried to pout, which is hard to do when any movement of the face is painful, as he responded, "Rats! I've always wanted to play but never learned."

Ducky chuckled appreciatively then sent the young man on his way with a pat on the shoulder.

* * *

When Tony returned to the bullpen, he stood in their midst, saying, "Well, gang, we have a problem. Marty's old team won't take him back and he's teamless at the moment. In a weak moment of charity, I offered him a place with us and the Director, also taking pity on him, approved it, though lord knows where we're going to put another desk."

Sam looked over at Molly, commenting, "Great. The Three Stooges reunited."

Director stood at the railing of the upper landing, watching and listening with a smile, questioning his own sanity in allowing DiNozzo, Carpenter _and_ O'Brien to be on the same team. He hoped the new facilities for the new Washington Field office would soon be ready over at Joint Base Anacostia-Bolling AFB just across the river from their present location.

They were filled to overflowing in this old building and they couldn't expand the existing facility. All part of the agency overhaul that would see additional new Field Offices that would greatly cut down on the time and cost for agents to travel for hours to simply be able to see a crime scene or question witnesses or suspects.

They would also see other changes, such as the institution of one Deputy Director in the #2 spot directly below the Director. Gibbs was already functioning as Deputy Director so it would be a matter of updating paperwork and changing the title on his office door until they moved to Quantico. Unless Gibbs didn't want to make that long drive, and Morrow strongly believed he wouldn't, then he'd just put him in the new Washington Field Office at Bolling. There was always a telephone when they needed to communicate.

But Gibbs balked at being called Deputy Director. He was content with being Consultant and advisor to the Director. That implied that he didn't necessarily have to be there every day, even if he was. Morrow decided that he'd just things lie as they were and would let the idea sink into the former Marine's thick skull. Maybe he could get Molly to help him out.

Next would be Assistant Deputy Directors who would be in charge of NCIS Field Offices around the world.

In many cases, people who had already been doing the work of ADDs, would simply have that official title assigned to them and they'd continue doing what they had already been doing. The Supervisory Special Agents would work with their teams immediately below the ADD, leaving them free to concentrate on their teams and cases.

In addition to Ducky and Palmer, Dr. Jordan Hamilton, now on staff fulltime, was titled ME; her assistant would be titled Autopsy Technician.

Dr. Dave Holland was named as Chief Forensics Scientist, Abby was named as Assistant Chief and others were simply Laboratory Technicians.

Altogether, this alignment would make for a smoother running operation all around. Now, it's just a matter of getting everything set up and functioning. Opening the additional satellite offices wouldn't be a problem and would save the agency time and money. It would be an interesting time for all of them.

* * *

Jethro and Molly had had a long conversation about Molly's future in NCIS. Both understood that these long trips away were a temporary condition that would be easily manageable afterward.

Molly wanted to maintain her association with NCIS but needed to be home more. Jethro wanted and needed her with him. Casey deserved more time with her. Aneesa wanted her daughter to be closer. And lastly, Molly _wanted_ to be home more.

Circumstances in her life had changed drastically since Gibbs had brought her to DC and now so many others figured closely into her life; she wanted to be there with and for them.

Jethro told her, "Go see what Tom has in mind. There are a million new changes gonna be made in NCIS. You do what you are comfortable with, Molly-girl. I'll deal with whatever that is."

She had looked into those blue eyes and touched that remarkable face gently, then smiled, "Did I ever tell ya that I love ya, Agent Gibbs?"

"I think I heard a rumor about it somewhere."

She never responded because a pair of demanding lips had taken charge over hers and she forgot all about what it was they had been talking about. Something about NCIS, maybe?

Later approached by Molly, the Director hated to see her leave the MCRT. That was now a totally perfect team and he wanted the dynamics to stay just as they were. He convinced her to stay with it until all the new offices and positions officially opened, then take another look at her options. He reminded her that there would be a new Chief Pilot of the newly established Aviation Division in the future and he had earmarked that position for her.

She agreed to wait until the dust settled before making a decision. Actually, working on Tony's team wasn't bad since he didn't demand they work around the clock, except in the case of a kidnapping. The team's working hours were established at 0730 until 1730, though she and Gibbs normally drove in to work together at his personal reporting time of 0700.

* * *

Aneesa could hardly wait to see her precious daughter-of-her-heart. There was so much for the two of them to talk about. She would call now that her Molly had returned from the duties that had kept her away for so long. Maybe they could meet for lunch one day very soon!

The woman from Arabia had never had a confident or close friend to talk with, to share things with, and it was extremely special to her to have Molly and to have found that confident, that friend, not to mention the special daughter of her kind heart.

When Aneesa made her call, they set a mutually agreeable time and the two women met for a happy lunch at Dr. Mallard's wonderful home. Aneesa had delighted in creating lovely, delicious dishes to serve. They talked, they ate, Molly stuffed herself with such delicious dishes and she wished she eat could more.

Aneesa, blushing and shy, told her that Dr. Mallard had proposed marriage to her and she hoped so much that her Molly would agree. Aneesa still couldn't get accustomed to being her own woman and probably never would after spending fifty-some years living in the customs of her people as she had; the only ones she had known until the Prince sent her to Molly to get rid of her. At least he hadn't just thrown her out the door into the desert as he could have.

Molly's only concern was that Aneesa might feel obligated to Ducky, but her mother told her, "Oh, my Molly. There is a saying in my country:

"Listen to the wind, it talks.

Listen to the silence, it speaks.

Listen to your heart, it knows."

Patting Molly's small hand, Aneesa very softly said, "I have listened to my heart, my daughter. Dr. Mallard is a _very good_ man who genuinely cares for me as I do him. I look forward to a happy life with him."

Molly was thrilled for her adopted mother and hugged her with happy tears, then the two women began discussing the kind of wedding Aneesa and Ducky wanted, made tentative guest lists and a million other important details that men would never think of or understand.

Aneesa wanted a small wedding and her guest list would be very short, to include Molly and Jethro, of course. And Mr. Jenkins, plus her few friends at NCIS. She said Dr. Mallard had suggested a small affair with only his close friends who were also mostly the same ones Aneesa knew at NCIS.

Molly was happy and excited. Except for her grandmother who had been gone so years now, Molly had never had a special girlfriend or an older woman to share happy events with, just to _be_ with, until she had met the mother-of-her-heart. She told Aneesa of her own wedding in Jethro's back yard and the woman nodded, eyes sparkling, declaring, "Yes! Something much like that!"

Aneesa, raised in a middle eastern culture with all its rules and laws, had never really been involved in the their system of belief. Being taken to the palace by her parents when she was so very young, such teachings were never extended to her level of staff, so it wasn't difficult for her to learn the beliefs held by her husband-to-be and she had been in attendance at a small Presbyterian church near the Mallard home for some time.

Ducky was quite pleased and Aneesa sincerely studied the beautiful white Bible he had presented to her, remembering all the things Molly had told her during their long hours together in the Palace. By this point in time, she was quite ready to formally join the denomination, which had its roots in Scotland. It would be a monumental step for her to take and she was so happy that Molly would be there with her, as well as her Donald.

When the day of the wedding arrived, Ducky's lovely back garden had been transformed into a lush place filled with containers of flowers and additional greenery. Chairs and tables were scattered about, each covered with white linen cloths, holding a small but beautiful arrangement of flowers and white tapers that would cast a golden glow over everything as the sun set. An array of food on a sideboard looked and smelled unbelievably good! Much of it had been cooked by the guests themselves on grills or in busy kitchens. Evening lighting was provided by many torches throughout the setting.

Molly, Abby, Samantha, Kathryn Walker (Jon's girlfriend Kat), Dr. Jordan Hamilton and other women of NCIS had spent long hours creating this amazingly beautiful setting and cooking - all with the greatest love and delight for Ducky and his very lovely, soft-spoken bride.

Their number was not large, but every person there loved the groom and his bride and this was a most special moment for each of them, genuinely happy to be there to take part in this great event.

Dressed in a modest white dress covered in lace that reached just a tiny touch above her knees, carrying a bouquet of pink lilies and white daisies nestled in feathery greenery, her dark hair arranged beautifully, Aneesa could hardly believe what was happening. Never in her life did she think that someone special would love her, want to spend his life with her. She had never expected to marry at all! She had always believed that her entire life would be spent within the walls of the Prince's palace.

She felt herself so fortunate and blessed that the man who had asked her had such a big, loving, gentle heart and be so wise. Her Donald had captivated her from the very moment they were first introduced but she'd never dared to think that their relationship would develop to this point, but she was so very thankful and grateful that it had.

She would do everything in her power to take care of him and keep him comfortable and happy in this beautiful home that was like a personal palace to her.

And Ducky. Oh, the spring in his step, the sparkles in those wise blue eyes, the smiles he constantly wore on his face, his happiness and joy were immeasurable. Every person who knew him was thrilled for him and it showed.

During the planning stage of the wedding, Molly explained the custom of having someone very close and special to the bride, usually her father if alive and able to be present, to escort her down the aisle to her groom.

Aneesa told her, "I have not seen my own father in more than forty years. I have no idea if is he dead or alive. The two people who are closest to me, besides my Donald, would be you and Jethro. Would the two of you honor me in this duty?"

Both had assured her _they_ would be most honored to do it for _her_. With Molly on one side and Jethro on the other, they walked with her as she made her entrance.

Standing beside Dr. Mallard was one Dr. James Palmer, M.D., his best man. However, it was Dr. Mallard who was calming the very nervous Dr. Palmer and there were many smiles on the faces of the guests.

When Jethro, Aneesa and Molly completed their slow journey to the pretty makeshift altar where the pastor, groom and best man waited, the pastor asked formally, "Who gives this woman to enter into marriage?"

Jethro swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat, saying clearly, "Her daughter and I do." Being basically an NCIS wedding, there were many damp eyes among those present.

Before all the people gathered here, including several who had been friends and classmates with Ducky since their days in Medical College in Scotland, as well as the Director of NCIS, and the Secretary of the Navy watched in genuine happiness as wedding vows were exchanged under the direction of the gentle pastor of that small church just down the road.

Ducky's face had a permanent smile as he held the hands of his absolutely glowing bride, going to each person and personally thanking them for coming.

Then it was time for all the wonderful food to be eaten. Chatting and swapping stories made everyone feel relaxed and at home. Assured by Molly and others that the bride staying and partaking in the feast with her new husband was expected in America, slowly Aneesa began to lose some of her shyness and to actually enjoy being with her husband and friends in the celebration of their marriage.

It truly was a time to celebrate with these two remarkable people from opposite sides of the world who had found each other in the latter parts of their lives. Both felt they were living a dream - but it was real.

* * *

Months later, gilt invitations were received by Tony's MCRT to be in attendance at a dinner gala hosted by the Secretary of Defense in an immense ballroom that would hold many hundreds.

Each of the recipients frowned and turned the card over and over, searching for a hint as to why their presence was desired by such a high-level office-holder. Tony called the Director and asked him. "I have no idea, young man, but if I was you, I'd _BE_ there no matter what. One does not decline a personal invitation from the Secretary of Defense. Understood?"

"Yes, sir. Thank you."

Hanging up, he relayed the information to the others. "That means that we WILL show up, ON TIME and we WILL be on our best manners. Anybody not understand any of that?"

Marty raised his hand like a kid in school, "Tony, that mean we gotta dress up, too?"

"To the nines, Marty, and that does not mean just a clean pair of jeans."

"And we're to bring a guest?" Molly asked.

"That's what it says, MollyMac, so I'd presume that it was mandatory, as well."

Marty's head hit his desk as he muttered, "Good grief! Where am I gonna find a date for somethin' like this?" Then he looked up and asked the group in general, "Anybody got a spare friend somewhere who would go with me?"

Tim grinned, saying, "I don't have a date, either. Maybe we can go together."

Marty muttered in seriousness, "I will probably have to take you up on that, Tim!" He groaned as he thought of getting through a tiresome evening with a bunch of bigwigs he'd never met before and would have to sit through a bunch of dull speeches.

"Hey, Tony. I think I'm gonna be sick that night. Yep, pretty sure of it."

"O'Brien, you'll be there with the rest of us if I have to hogtie you and drag you there myself!" Tony turned to Jon, "Kat got any available friends who might be willing to help us out?"

"Dunno, but I'll ask," he answered.

Sam said, "I don't have a date either, so I can team up with one of you single guys."

Tim piped up quickly, calling, "DIBS! I got dibs on Sam. Sam, bless you!"

His teammate grinned in return, though she had secretly hoped that Tony would claim her. "It'll be fun, guys. We'll all probably be at a big table in the very back of the room, and nobody will ever know we were there."

Tony released a long sigh. "I can only hope."

The evening of the big event finally arrived, much to the relief of the MCRT and dates. They had fussed and fretted about this night until they were thoroughly tired of it and were determined to simply relax and enjoy themselves.

Actually, the team's appearance was stunning, both collectively and individually. They were a very good-looking group who drew more than one slightly jealous glance. However, they were quite surprised to find themselves seated at a large round table very close to the front of the dais and learned that the Director would be joining them.

The team was on its best behavior and no food or spitballs were thrown. At least, so no one could notice. After a surprisingly good dinner, the Secretary of Defense stood at a podium on a stage behind the dais and the MCRT settled in with sighs, prepared to listen to a dry, dull speech that was almost guaranteed to lull them to sleep.

Secretary Collier began, "First, thanks to all of you for coming tonight. It's good to see so many friendly faces."

"Tonight is special to me for a number of reasons, but also because I have the privilege of honoring some people tonight who are more than worthy of the awards they'll be given."

"It took some unusual circumstances to bring these people together for this event. What started out as a test program to save taxpayer dollars culminated right out of the gate into a terribly serious incident."

"I'm referring to an interesting program proposed by NCIS Director Tom Morrow. Good to see you again, Tom. Director Morrow came up with the idea of gathering from within his own organization a group of agents who would serve as his protection detail while he was traveling. By the way, the numbers, so far, seem to be validating Tom's idea."

"While on a long business trip that included many stops throughout the United States, someone slipped a most unusual bomb into their airplane. Barometric as well as a countdown timer. The bomb was discovered after they were already in flight."

"They were near Denver but even Denver's 'Mile High' airport wasn't high enough. Racing against time, they had only a few minutes to find an airport high enough that they had a chance of reaching before they ran out of time."

"The flight barely reached a tiny airport in the tiny town of Mackay, Idaho before the last seconds were ticking down. On board that aircraft was NCIS Special Agent Martin O'Brien who held the bomb tightly as the flight landed on a runway that was much too short. As soon as the plane stopped quite a distance past the end of that runway, the cabin door was opened and Special Agent O'Brien ran from the plane, throwing the bomb only seconds before it exploded."

"By his selfless and courageous act, he saved not only his own life but that of NCIS Director Morrow and his teammates. Though painfully injured in the explosion, Special Agent O'Brien continued his duties until he could be relieved some hours later."

"Marty, will you join me, please?"

A stunned and embarrassed Marty rose from his seat to thunderous applause and made his way onto the stage.

Secretary Collier smilingly shook his hand. "Marty, for your heroic actions that day, I have the great honor of presenting you with the Secretary of Defense Medal of Valor."

Marty looked completely stunned. He blinked, shook the Secretary's hand, and started to leave the stage until halted by the Secretary. "Stay with me for a moment, Marty."

Collier turned back to the audience. "Marty wasn't the only one to give outstanding service that day. The two pilots of that aircraft pulled off a miracle that even the Gulfstream designers and builders can't explain. Being so terribly short on time and with such a distance to cover before the bomb would explode, there was simply no way they could reach that little runway in Mackay, Idaho. But somehow it did."

"I'd like for Special Agent/Captain Molly MacKenzie and Special Agent/First Officer Tim McGee to join me."

Tim and Molly looked as stunned as Marty had. Somehow they suddenly found them uncomfortably onstage beside Marty.

Collier shook their hands, then told the audience, "Facts don't lie. Experts tell me that to cover the amount of ground they had to cover to make it to Mackay the jet they were flying had to have reached at least 670 miles per hour, maybe a little more."

"Gulfstream themselves say it is impossible for that airplane to go that fast, but somehow, these two pilots squeezed it out of the jet and made a successful landing on a little runway that was more than a thousand feet too short."

"Molly, Tim, for your extraordinary skill and actions that day, I'm privileged to present each of you with the Secretary of Defense Meritorious Civilian Service Award. Fantastic job of flying! Congratulations to both of you."

Again, much applause.

Before the three agents could bolt, Collier said, "There was one other on that memorable flight who also deserves recognition. Had he not detected the bomb, everyone on that flight would have perished. He is also a decorated veteran of the Afghan war, now retired."

Collier looked to his left toward the side curtains that blocked the view backstage. Molly gasped as Collier said, "Roger, come on out, boy!"

Mr. Jenkins who was supposed to be "Roger-sitting", unclipped Roger's leash and gestured for him to go out onto the stage. Seeing his hesitation, Molly gave him a quick hand signal, and he trotted out and seated himself at her right side.

The Secretary joined everyone else in applauding the three agents and Molly's beloved shepherd assembled onstage.

As the applause died down, Collier said with a grin, gesturing to the two pilots, "You may recognize these two as the pilots of a flight known world-wide as Gulfstream 7700."

Molly just wanted to sink into the floor and Tim's face couldn't be any redder. Marty appeared to be looking for the closest escape route.

The instant they were released, the agents vanished, escaping to the safety of their table and teammates. Director Morrow couldn't stop beaming at his agents. He had sent a recommendation nominating them for the awards, but hadn't known the result until he noted that the NCIS table was right down front, but even then, he hadn't said a word. There was no way to adequately describe his great pride for his people. They all were simply extraordinary. And to receive such public praise was invaluable to such a small, often overlooked agency as NCIS. _'We may be small, but nobody is better!"_ he often thought to himself.

The rest of their team was nearly beside themselves with pride for the awardees and it was hard to settle down and listen to the Secretary give his "remarks", as they are always called, but thankfully he was brief and the dinner was at an end.

Gibbs was so proud of Molly, there was no way he could hide his grin. Outside, they met up with Mr. Jenkins who apologized for his subterfuge in bringing Roger, but under the circumstances he was quickly forgiven. Roger had no idea what was going on, but his human was there so everything was be alright.

By the time the overhaul of the agency was complete, the Director and his detail had logged a lot of miles. Their experiment was a proven success and other agencies in government used their model to pattern themselves similarly.

The agents had to admit that it was good to get back to being just agents for the majority of their time, being the Director's protection detail only now and then. It also worked out well having a MCRT of six instead of four. Having more people made their investigations progress faster. Their new digs at Bollinger were most welcome, having enough space so they weren't sitting on top of each other, and having additional MCRTs.

But most of all, they were happy to finally get away from the awful orange walls.

* * *

Next on

NCIS

The Carolina Connection

Book 3 part 3

coming soon!

(well, as soon as I get my thoughts organized and write it.)

'Wings


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